


The Song Remains The Same

by MoraLeeWright



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ackerbonds, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, kinda sorta AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 110,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoraLeeWright/pseuds/MoraLeeWright
Summary: When Mikasa saves Levi’s life during a mission, she feels a familiar power awaken within her from years ago. Only this time it seems to form an inexplicable connection between her and the captain, leaving them to question themselves and the name of Ackerman.





	1. Dazed And Confused

She studied the face in front of her with a kind of detached curiosity, eyes tracing over familiar features that suddenly appeared completely foreign. It wasn’t obvious at first what had changed, what aspect of the present physiognomy was different from before.

The nose and cheeks were thinner, perhaps, more angular, having traded the softness of adolescence for the more defined edges of maturity. When had this happened? The eyes—which had always appeared older, haunted—no longer seemed at odds with their corresponding features.

The child with the eyes of a soldier was now just that—a soldier. Resolute.

She tilted her chin forward and the face copied the motion, those haunted eyes regarding her mutely from under dark lashes. So familiar. The history of the past five years was beginning to reveal itself upon her flesh, the scar below her right eye only a small piece of its cruel scripture. She thought about all that had happened in her time since joining the Survey Corps, how it had changed her. Changed them.

 _Eren_.

He had changed too. No longer a boy, but still not yet a man. She knew that if she looked into those green eyes that she would see reflected back at her the same pain that she now observed in her own. So familiar.

And yet, despite how much he’d changed, there was so much about Eren Jaeger that was, and always would remain, the same. His indomitable spirit, his headstrong resilience and stubbornness—traits which both saved and hindered him—these would never change. Nor would his strong will and desire to save mankind. Nor would his feelings for her.

Eren had held her heart in his hand, and for what seemed like an eternity she had waited for that moment she could have his in return—clutching the red scarf at her neck like it was a promise, a substitute—and waited, waited, waited. But the moment never came, and despite his tenderness and sympathy, some things just can’t be returned without being broken. And no sooner had he given back her heart did it crumble into pieces in her hands.

And then there had been Rubie, a girl with flame-colored hair and a familiar shade of green eyes. So familiar. And, really, it was just so achingly perfect the way she burned her way into Eren’s very soul and effectively branded him as hers. He’d leaped willingly into that flame, joyously.

And the pieces of Mikasa’s heart reduced to ash.

Suddenly, everything she had fought for, everything that motivated her, that made her want to live another day in this bleak world that had taken nearly _everything_ from her, seemed utterly pointless. Because everything, in actuality, had been him. Ever since he wrapped his scarf around her neck on that fateful day which seemed so long ago.

But she loved him, and she saw how happy he was for the first time in a long time. How happy she made him. And Mikasa new she would never be able to give him that. She could give him her heart, her love, her protection, her whole goddamned life, but she would never be Rubie.

So she let him go.

After finally accepting that Eren would never be hers in the way she wanted, that he’d never feel for her what he did for Rubie, she became a ghost. She fumbled through the everyday minutiae aimlessly and without thought. She became despondent and withdrawn, especially on missions, not caring if—no, just _hoping_ a titan would reach out and grab her and put an end to all the hopeless misery. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten so careless.

_Don’t screw this up by making it personal, you understand?_

His words had come to her unbidden one day. Why, she couldn’t say; she hadn’t seen the short-statured captain in almost a year. No one had.

_We all get that you love him, but try not to act crazy._

Not that she would ever admit it, and it wouldn’t be until much later that she’d even realize it, but it was his words that had served as the catalyst for her decision. The decision to shake the ashes off and rise from their depths. Or, as the captain himself might’ve said, _pick your sorry ass up and quit acting like a little bitch._

She smiled grimly at the thought and scoffed, breath fogging up the mirror. She supposed she was lucky the shorty hadn’t been around during her moments of weakness, for she could only imagine the ass-handing she’d have gotten for it.

The change wouldn’t happen immediately, however. She’d spent nearly six months drifting in a wretched shell, and it took another two for her to come to terms with the fact that the captain’s words held a lot more weight than she had previously given them. It was, after all, not just her life on the line; it was one thing to act reckless and get herself killed, but something entirely different to jeopardize the lives of everyone around her. The lives of her friends.

It was then Mikasa realized she had no idea who she was. Everyone needed a cause, something to fight for. For Eren, it had always been humanity’s survival; despite the horrors he had witnessed so early in his life, despite the atrocities he had seen humankind to be capable of, he was still good and just. Mikasa, for reasons she didn’t fully understand, held a more jaded outlook on the hearts of men. Except for one, of course, and he had already broken hers.

But what does one do when the cause is lost yet the battle still needs to be fought? What happens when the cause you had clung so tightly to turns out to be as incorporeal as blood and dries and vanishes just as quickly? It took a while to figure it out. _Too long_ , she thinks now.

Mikasa had had many a good look in the mirror with herself over the course of the last year—watching and assessing as the pieces of her old self crumbled and cracked to give way to something new. She’d dedicated herself to honing her body and her skills as a soldier over the past five years, doggedly and efficiently fulfilling her role as the weapon everyone expected her to be. How ironic then that the girl “worth 100 soldiers,” arguably one of humanity’s strongest warriors, should feel more machine than human.

 _Who are you?_ She would ask her reflection on multiple occasions. _Who are you besides the lovesick girl from Shiganshina? Who are you besides the strongest soldier? Who do you_ think _you are?_

Yes, she’d had some time to think about these questions.

Now, staring into the eyes of her reflection, she understood that, aside from the physical changes that had occurred from five years in the Survey Corps, it is the unseen changes that make her appear different. So familiar, so foreign.

This wasn’t the fifteen-year-old Mikasa who took up the wings of freedom alongside the boy she loved, who painted her life in every shade of Eren Jaeger and refused to explore any other hue. Those had been the actions of a girl. And somewhere along the past year that girl had died and was replaced by someone new.

”Mikasa Ackerman.”

She shifted her eyes across the mirror to glance at the owner of the voice—a soldier she recognized but didn’t know the name of. A lieutenant. She was tall and lanky, with a mop of white-blonde hair and an unfortunate case of acne.

“I’m Lieutenant Matheson. Forgive me, Hanji said I’d find you here. I’ve come to escort you to Commander Smith,” the woman said carefully, perhaps curious as to why Mikasa practically had her nose pressed against one of the mirrors in the bathroom.  
Remembering herself, Mikasa turned to face the soldier head on and saluted.

“Aye, lieutenant. Thank you.” The time had flown by quicker than she had expected, and she was glad she’d finished her workout and shower before her scheduled meeting with Erwin Smith. She’d been informed by Hanji yesterday that the commander would be expecting her in his office by noon sharp. She had no idea for what but guessed it was most likely important.

Lieutenant Matheson nodded, a sign for Mikasa to drop her salute, before spinning on her heel and briskly exiting the shower room.

The march to the commander’s room was silent, but Mikasa didn’t mind. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Her hair was still slightly damp underneath from her shower, and she thought, not for the first time, how it was in need of a cut. At the very least it would dry faster. But with no Eren Jaeger to prod her, she’d let the black tresses grow until they grazed her shoulders.

"The commander is waiting for you inside,” Matheson spoke suddenly, jolting Mikasa from her thoughts. She hadn’t realized they’d reached his door. ”Knock first.”

The lieutenant turned and left without another word, and Mikasa watched her retreating form briefly before facing the door to Erwin’s office. She took a moment to ready herself before knocking three times. She heard his deep voice from within telling her to enter and she corrected her posture before slipping into the room.

”Ah, Miss Ackerman. Excellent. Thank you for coming.” Erwin sat unsmiling behind his desk, but she could see an amiable gleam in his blue eyes as he watched her cross the room toward him.

”Commander Smith, sir. You requested my presence?” She saluted, forcing herself to hold his gaze steadily. Erwin Smith may have been sitting down, separated from her by a sturdy oak desk, but he was still an intimidating man to look at.

”At ease, soldier. Yes, and not just you,” his eyes left hers to stare at the door she had just entered from, full brows creasing and a slight frown tugging at his thin lips. ”At least one of you was on time.”

She decided against asking who the second person was. Erwin inhaled deeply and returned his gaze to her, gesturing to one of the two chairs before his desk.

”Well, I suppose we can discuss one of the reasons I called you here today. Please, sit.”

She nodded and took the chair on the right, pulling the leather-backed seat away from the desk and sinking into it gently. No sooner had her back met the leather of the seat than Erwin was speaking again.

“Cadet Ackerman, you are being promoted.”

While Mikasa had always appreciated Erwin’s straight-to-the-point style of communication, she was not at all prepared for his statement. She was glad he had offered her a chair.

”Sir?” She sputtered, absolutely stunned, and then quickly added, ”promoted?”

Erwin nodded slowly like he was explaining it to a young child, but his eyes weren’t unkind.

"That’s correct, _Lieutenant_ Ackerman.”

Mikasa managed to refrain from gaping at the man, bowing her head forward slightly and widening her eyes. She had definitely not been expecting this. She inhaled to speak, but Erwin pressed on.

"This has been a long time coming. You’ve always been one of the Corps’ best soldiers, but you have shown particular growth and initiative within this past year that is nothing short of commendable.”

Mikasa was brought back to her earlier musings in the women’s showers. Apparently, others had noticed her changes as well.

”Sir, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Erwin didn’t smile, but that same look from before gleamed in his eyes. ”Don’t thank me, lieutenant. You’ve done well in your service to humanity. This development is only to be expected.”

This isn’t flattery—she knows him well enough—he’s simply stating a fact. She dipped her head again in thanks but otherwise remained mute.

"Under normal circumstances, I would be assigning you your own squad to command,” he said without looking at her, pausing to scribble something on a sheet of paper in front of him before adding, “you’ve shown much improvement in the leadership field.”

The unspoken hung heavy above them, and she dipped her head again, this time in guilt. This wasn’t the first time she’d been summoned to Erwin’s office. Granted, it had been over half a year ago, but the circumstances had been much different then. She’d been much different.

_Your recklessness is endangering not just yourself but the lives of everyone around you._

Again her thoughts drifted to her earlier musings in front of the mirror.

“I’d like to think that I have, sir.” The remorse in her voice wasn’t affected.

The commander lifted the paper he had been writing on and passed it across the desk to her, pen proffered in his other hand in a wordless indication for her signature. One glance at the paper and she knew it was the official document stating her new position as a lieutenant. She scrawled her name as Erwin spoke.

“You remain headstrong as always, and perhaps a bit too quick to fire,” he said, voice entirely business, “but given your current trajectory, I believe that you could one day make a strong captain.”

Her head shot up to look at him, hand paused midway through _Ackerman_. His mask did crack then, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“What’s more, you remind me of someone,” he added, voice devoid of mirth despite the subtle expression he bore.

Before she had the opportunity to ask him who, the door whipped open with a bang. She barely controlled herself from starting in her chair, managing instead to turn calmly and see who was responsible for the loud intrusion. She heard Erwin mutter something like ”about time” under his breath, but she was too preoccupied with trying not to gape at the person who had just entered the room.

Speak of the devil…

Captain Levi strode into Erwin’s office like it was now his own, leather boots thunderous against the wood floor. It had been nearly a year since she’d seen the short man, yet his usual expression of boredom was just as she’d remembered it. She saluted wordlessly, muttering his honorific. He ignored her. So did Erwin.

”You’re late,” the latter said, voice flat.

”Tch. By five minutes. Some shitty brat cadet held me up.” The captain stopped behind the other chair, placing his hands on its back and leaning his weight forward in a casual stance. Mikasa bristled but held her tongue. And her salute. _The gall of this man._

”I had hoped to speak with you briefly before we commenced with this meeting,” Erwin said slowly, the irritation barely audible in his tone. Only then did Levi address Mikasa.

”At ease, cadet.” He didn’t look at her, just cast his glance in her general direction like she was nothing but a distraction. She dropped her salute, unable to hide the passive aggressive swing of her arms as she brought them dramatically to her sides. The things she’d forgotten about him…

”That would be _lieutenant_ , captain,” Erwin said, and she thought she heard a note of amusement in his tone. Levi did look at her then, slate eyes empty. If he seemed surprised he didn't show it save for a curious arch of his left eyebrow. 

" _Lieutenant_ Ackerman,” he amended, yet the word dripped heavy with sarcasm, sounding more like an insult than a honorific. If he seemed surprised by the development in her rank he didn’t show it. She refused to cower under his piercing gaze.

”Let us sit and discuss the reason we’re all here today,” Erwin drawled, turning his attention back to the papers in front of him as if to prove the pissing match between the two soldiers didn’t interest him in the slightest.

Mikasa held the captain’s gaze for a few beats longer before sitting stiffly. Levi remained standing but turned his eyes to the commander.

”Levi, I received your letter three days before your arrival, just as was anticipated, and we shall be going over the details later,” Erwin began, voice entirely business despite his addressing Levi by name. ”However, I will tell you that this topic today is related to your current assignment.”

Levi’s face remained indifferent, the tap-tapping of his right index finger against the chair’s supple leather the only indicator of his growing impatience. Erwin was deviating from his usual cut-to-the-chase approach, and Mikasa supposed it was probably due to her presence. She was walking into this with no context, after all. The commander’s next words confirmed her suspicion.

"Lieutenant, for the past year and a half Captain Levi has been charged with a highly confidential mission to find and monitor a group of extremists calling themselves _The_ _Redeemers_.” He paused, regarding the young woman before him carefully before continuing on. ”We’ve been monitoring their activities for nearly two years now, with the Military Police driving the brunt of the investigations. However, recent discoveries have led us to view them no longer as an inconvenient group of fanatics but a full-blown terrorist organization.”

The weight of the matter suddenly settled in the pit of Mikasa’s stomach. She wondered how she’d never heard of this group before, yet was also curious as to why she was being briefed on such pivotal information.

”This group...are they the ones responsible for the series of child kidnappings in Stohess?”

Erwin’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly. ”Yes, actually.” He inhaled to say something else but paused, casting a brief glance to Levi before continuing. ”Based on the intel we have obtained through Levi, it is believed they are harboring a Titan-shifter within their ranks and plan on using this individual as a weapon.”

She didn’t attempt to stop her jaw from slackening. _A Titan-shifter?_

”Do you know the identity of this shifter?” Mikasa asked—one of just a million questions on her tongue.

"Not yet, but I’m close.” It was Levi who answered. She turned in her chair to regard the man, but his gaze remained fixed on Erwin. She looked back to the commander.

”With all due respect, commander, why bring me into this?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Levi cut in briskly, and it took every ounce of Mikasa’s resolve not to leap from her chair and throttle the man. It’s not that she’d forgotten how detestable he could be, but...

Erwin ignored him, blinking slowly at Mikasa before saying, ”as I said before, Lieutenant, this is highly confidential, and I plan on keeping it that way. At least until we find this shifter. Under the guise of an alias, Levi has established contact with key members of The Redeemers, but I need another set of eyes.”

The blond man leaned back in his chair, regarding Mikasa with a tired expression that made him look much older than his years. He flicked his eyes over Levi for the second time, appearing suddenly hesitant. A foreboding flutter set in Mikasa’s stomach.

”Of course, no one can know your identity, Mikasa, so you will be given a false identity as well.”

“I’m...sorry,” Levi began, voice verging on a hiss. “You can’t possibly be suggesting that _she_ become involved with this.”

“Levi.” Erwin’s voice was low. A warning.

“She’s a goddamned hazard to herself and everyone aroun—”

At this Mikasa did rise to her feet, the chair skittering back at the movement. The dark-haired captain met her gaze blandly, but she could see the challenge burning deep within his grey orbs. _I dare you to try something stupid, brat._

“Enough,” Erwin barked, voice not quite a shout but forceful enough to command the room back into his hands. “Lieutenant Ackerman has shown the necessary growth and initiative this past year to warrant not only an increase in rank but also my trust. Therefore, there is no one better qualified to help you in this mission.”

Mikasa tore her gaze away from the shorter man to look at the commander, bewildered by his words. _His trust?_ Levi scoffed.

“I’m spying on a bunch of Titan-idolizing terrorists, Erwin, not babysitting some capricious brat—“

“I don’t actually need your permission, Levi,” Erwin said, gathering papers on his desk and stacking them into a neat pile. “Finish signing, Miss Ackerman,” he added.

She'd been distracted by Levi's clamorous entry and forgotten to finish the last four letters of her surname. Bending forward, she quickly scribbled out the rest of her signature before passing the document back to him. He took it and nodded, adding it to the newly assembled pile of pages before tapping the stack into order against the desk with a smack.

“I wish you could have had more time to enjoy your new rank, but as of tomorrow you will no longer be Lieutenant Mikasa Ackerman. You and the captain will ride out at first light under an alias.” Erwin regarded each of them in turn as he spoke, his eyes promising no compromise.

”And where exactly are we _riding off_ to?" Levi sneered, his finger tapping slightly quicker against the chair.

Erwin gave the captain a warning glance before saying, ”Levi, your cover is still the same. Mikasa, you will henceforth be known as Mia. Shouldn’t be too difficult to remember. For the sake of your cover, and given the fact that neither of you looks remotely related, I suggest the both of you pose as a—”

“No.”

The commander arched a brow at her audacity, but Mikasa refused to waver. She didn’t need him to finish that sentence to know what he was suggesting, and there was absolutely no way—

“A man and a woman traveling alone together who aren’t related or involved romantically looks suspicious. This mission is all about secrecy. We can’t afford complications due to pride or past disputes.” He looked meaningfully at the two soldiers before him, appraising each with a flick of his azure eyes. ”The circumstance is less than ideal. Believe me, if I could have chosen a less volatile pairing I would have.”

Levi made a strained noise beside her that sounded like he was hissing air through his teeth, but she refused to look at him. The commander was right, no matter how much it spanked to hear it. At least he wasn’t singling her out—he was basically admitting that the contemptuous history of their relationship was just as much Levi’s fault as it was hers.

_You remind me of someone._

More so, she didn’t exactly want to undo all the progress she’d made over the past year and drive him to recant his words of praise he’d just offered her not ten minutes ago. Not even the satisfaction of seeing the smug expression vanish from the man’s face as she hooked her fist into his jaw would be worth the fallout.

"Fine,” the captain muttered, and Mikasa felt like he was speaking for both of them. ”But that didn’t answer my original question.”

Erwin stared blankly at the short man for a few beats before shaking his head slowly. ”You’re not going to like it.”

”Spit it the fuck out already, Erwin.” Levi’s finger ceased its rhythm.

”I’m sending you to the Underground.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this fic was born during a conversation I had a while back with a friend. The topic essentially revolved around the concept of Mikasa (one of our favorite badass characters in AoT) realizing her full potential as a strong, independent woman. For a RivaMika fic, it worked because she’s stepping away from the role of Eren’s protector and really coming into her own as the amazing character she is.
> 
> To that point, let’s be clear right now that this is a RivaMika fic. You don’t have to be a Levi x Mikasa shipper to read it, obviously everyone’s welcome, but I don’t appreciate RivaMika haters leaving RivaMika hate on my RivaMika story. There are plenty of ships out there that aren't for me, but I’m not about to go troll that party. That being said, reviews and comments about the story are highly encouraged no matter how negative/positive they are. Stay tuned... :)


	2. Trampled Under Foot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you for all the support/kudos/comments/love for the previous chapter. I truly appreciate it, and it’s made me feel encouraged to actually follow through with this thing and keep updating. You guys are the best! Here’s chapter 2!

The girl had been silent for most of the ride to Mitras. Though he wasn’t one to complain about a lack of conversation, and it’s not like there was much to chat about. Most of the people they passed on the street left them alone; no one recognized them anyway without their military garb, and the nondescript brown cloaks they wore worked well to conceal their identities.

He really wished Erwin would have given him a heads up about this. Although, to be fair, maybe the Aryan man would have had Levi not been late in the first place. Not that it was his fault—Cadet Braus had all the grace and coordination of a small Titan. About as mindless too, it seemed. Needless to say, objects of a fragile nature (tea sets, for example) were not safe when she was around.

Levi shook his head at the memory, gripping the reigns tighter in his fist. He had half a mind to fashion mini 3DM gear for his cups so they at least stood a fighting chance next time the auburn-haired girl tried to handle them.

Although, at this point he was sure he would have prefered Braus’ presence to the sullen brat riding beside him. It wasn’t her silence that bothered him—again, he appreciated that fact—but rather the girl’s tendency to fry his last nerve. And she didn’t need to talk to do that. For whatever reason, he and the brat were like oil and water.

He’d recognized her immediately as soon as he’d barged into Erwin’s office yesterday afternoon. She’d had her back to him, hunched over a piece of paper, but he’d known it was she without seeing her face. No one had hair that impossible shade of deep black. It was longer than he’d remembered, just touching her shoulders, but unmistakable nonetheless.

Already piqued from the Sasha Braus Fiasco, he’d made it a point to avoid catching the raven-haired girl’s eyes when she’d finally turned in her chair to face him; there was something about her ebony gaze that always managed to unnerve him—a rare sensation for the captain. 

Not that he’d ever give her the satisfaction of knowing.

He did look at her eventually, gray meeting black in a familiar, wordless challenge. But while her eyes were the same—just as fierce as the day she’d stared him down (was it five years ago, now?) in that courtroom while he kicked the living daylights out of her brother—there was something decidedly different about the sullen brat. 

Maybe it was just the absence of that damn red scarf. She’d always worn that; it held some association with the Jaeger-brat and didn’t seem like something she would readily forget to put on.

Odd. She was odd, always had been. And reckless. There was a time, he had to admit, that he would have been willing to give Ackerman a shot. Only a fool could ignore her skills in battle, reckless or not.

But his lasting impression of the girl had been after they’d rescued Eren from the Female Titan; she’d been foolish and reckless and nearly cost them the mission. There was blind devotion, and then there was just being fucking blind.

If there was one thing Levi had learned it was that everything is ephemeral, and he, therefore, had a hard time respecting anyone who clung so tightly to something in this impermanent world. Be that scarf or boy. 

Because nothing’s safe in the end, anyway.

This little undercover project Erwin had put him to for the past year and a half had been a good distraction. It was times like those that Levi felt most like a dog. Not just because he felt used, but because he _wanted_ a job. He _wanted_ a distraction.

At first, it had felt like time wasted tailing supposed members of The Redeemers through different cities. Gathering intel, learning names. Eventually, though, the stakes became higher the deeper he went, and soon he stopped returning to the Corps as Captain Levi in favor of preserving his alias and the progress he’d made.

He hated to admit it, but he actually missed the familiarity of his role in the Corps. All this clandestine shit and sneaking around reminded him too much of his life before in the Underground.

And now he was going back. 

Growing up in a shithole and witnessing the hopeless cause that is humanity doesn’t exactly leave one with a cheery disposition. But the options were either give up or trudge through. And Levi was no quitter; as long as he had a decent cup of tea, a clean space, and as little exposure to idiots as possible, he could manage trudging.

Ok, maybe the last requisite was a bit of a tall order, because _fuck, of all the people to be stuck with._  

With his luck, Ackerman would blow the whole operation, undo all the work he’d done, and get them both killed before the end of the month. Yes, Sasha Braus would’ve been better. At least she could follow orders and be reasonably cowed by him. Jaeger himself would do. _Hanji,_ even.

“Who’s meeting us at the entrance?”

Levi was so caught up in his head that it took him a moment to realize his companion was speaking to him. He turned in his saddle and looked at her, just making out the shadow of her dark eyes from under her hood. She repeated her question again when it became obvious he hadn’t heard her.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s trustworthy,” Levi replied nonchalantly, returning his gaze to the road before adding, ”just let me do the talking.”

“I’m not worried. I’m curious.” Her words were clipped. He’d clearly annoyed her. 

“Don’t be curious.” 

“If you would answer my questions instead of—“ 

“ _Questions?_ So you have more than one?” He faced her again. _The brat wasn’t going to give up._  

“I’ll keep the rest to myself if you answer the first.” She sounded like a goddamned child. He grit his teeth.

“You know, you might have a shiny new promotion, Ackerman, but I’m still your superior. I don’t think you get to tell me what to do—“

“If I recall, _Liam,_  we left certain identities behind us when we departed headquarters this morning. Unless plans have changed, I believe I am your _wife.”_ She kept her voice low, despite the lack of passersby on the twilight road. 

“I wasn’t aware a husband was required to share everything with his spouse,” he replied, but there was no mirth in his tone. He wasn’t playing. The brat was walking on ice, and damn her if she thought this was a game…

“Perhaps not. But back on the subject of superiors; in this case, I think it’s safe to assume who is usually in charge in a marriage.”

”Yeah, you go ahead and think that.”

”I know it.”

 _For fuck’s sake._ A million replies danced on Levi’s tongue, and he knew all of them would only serve to dig him a deeper hole. His glare intensified, but the brat refused to back down. She didn’t even waver. 

Finally, all he could do was scoff and face the road once more, if only to escape the look of triumph he’d seen in her sable eyes.

 

* * *

 

The most glaring indicator of their arrival into Mitras was the city’s inhabitants; their clothes were indicative of the style worn by the upper classes, and the ladies adorned their hair with various ridiculous trinkets like beads or colorful feathers. 

These people reeked of wealth. Not a scrap of their attire was practical—especially from the perspective of two hardened Survey Corps members—and served only to display their opulence and privilege.

It was one of the reasons that Levi hated coming to this place. That, and it was the closest he got to his life before the military, despite just how different this sparkling world was from its bleak counterpart below.

 _Ironic, really,_ Levi thought with a scoff, which earned him a curious glance from Mikasa. He ignored her, urging his horse forward and through the mass of affluence.

”It’s unusually crowded for this time of night,” Mikasa muttered from his right, her horse flanking his own.

”Light Festival,” he replied sullenly, eyes combing the crowd. ”Bunch of rich fuckers playing with lamps and shit. Or something like that,” he added, scowling as a group of adolescents raced in front of them, colorful paper lanterns overflowing in their arms.

”Oh, that’s right,” Mikasa said quietly, her voice strangely soft. ”They light them up and the lanterns float to the sky. It’s pretty.”

He barely refrained from rolling his eyes, because of course Ackerman was a _complete sap_ when it came to this kind of shit. 

Instead, he muttered, ”people love to play with fire.” 

As if to punctuate his words, a very loud firecracker exploded into the air directly above them, bathing the world below in bright red and causing the horses to prance and whicker nervously. Levi grimaced and reigned in his bay. 

These weren’t the military-bred mounts that were used to loud noises and chaos, but standard packhorses that barely saw anything more exciting than a cart or saddlebag. Another necessary detail to aid in their cover, but inconvenient nonetheless.

Levi cast another glance through the crowd, trying to tune out the chaos and din of the festival. There were too many people, too much movement and light to focus on one given person. Which, really, was the point.

“This way,” he grumbled to Mikasa, steering them away from the main bustle of festival goers and toward a small courtyard reserved for tethering and watering horses. 

Levi dismounted first, saddle-weary legs screaming as he walked his horse to the hitching beam. He heard Mikasa groan and assumed she was probably just as sore as he—riding for most of the day in a saddle was brutal even for seasoned riders like themselves. 

While the horses drank from the water trough, Levi took stock of the surroundings. There were no other people or animals in the secluded courtyard, and the babel of the festival was significantly quieter. He could actually hear his own thoughts. 

“I wonder how much attention those fireworks draw,” Mikasa murmured, running her hand over her horse’s withers as the animal drank from the trough. “It’s like people forget about Titans this far into the walls.”

Levi scoffed through his nose and shook his head. “Easy to forget when you have the money to seclude yourself in a fancy house,” he said bitterly.

He unhooked his water canteen from the saddlebag and took a drink before passing it to Mikasa. She stared at him strangely for a beat before finally accepting the proffered flask.

“Thanks,” she said, averting her eyes.

He wasn’t sure why he’d given her the water. She probably had her own in her pack, but he felt the gesture was somehow…necessary. If they were going to be working together for the next foreseeable while, the past needed to be left at the door. Easier said than done, and a water canteen wasn’t exactly the best of olive branches. Still.

Before he could dwell further on it, a resonant voice began speaking from behind them. 

“Lovely night for a light show, eh?”

Levi’s hand shot out to still Mikasa before she could grab the knife at her belt. She looked quickly between him and the man emerging from the shadows, confusion etched on her features. Levi gave her a curt, reassuring nod, a signal to stand down, and she relaxed slightly. 

“Not polite to sneak up on people,” Levi said as the man approached. 

The man wasn’t particularly tall, standing maybe an inch or two higher than Mikasa, but he was built like a tree and covered in tattoos. 

He was covered in intricate patterns of ink, from his bare, muscular arms up to his neck, concluding in a detailed design of a compass rose on top of his shaved pate. He wasn’t old, though not particularly young—his eyes were a bright blue and he sported a full, dark beard, which gave him a somewhat roguish look.

In effect, he was intimidating to look at. 

“Wasn’t sneaking, you just weren’t paying attention,” the man said, his rasping voice suiting his cutthroat appearance.

“This your guy?” Mikasa murmured beside Levi, her wary eyes never leaving the fierce-looking man.

“Don’t tell me you’ve kept your friend out of the loop,” the man said with a deep chuckle, eyes glancing over Mikasa. “Especially one so lovely.”

The comment was meant to be friendly, diffuse the tension, and for any other woman it may have been perceived as a compliment. But it only rankled Mikasa further, and with a quick motion her knife was drawn and ready in her hand.

Levi spoke up before the situation escalated out of hand. “Efran,” he said with a slightly exasperated look toward the man. “Surprised you found us so quickly.”

Efran ran a tattooed hand over his bald head. “I think it was coincidence, actually. Courtyard seemed like the best place to escape all that nonsense.” He gestured at the lively crowd out on the square with a scowl.

Levi nodded in agreement and set to unloading his pack from his saddle, Mikasa quickly copying his actions. _Good. At least she’s not protesting anymore._

“Efran, this is…Mia.” He couldn’t bring himself to introduce her as his wife, despite the fact that Efran was wise enough to assume that _Mia_ wasn’t even her real name. Still, he didn’t miss the subtle smirk on the man’s face as he nodded at Mikasa.

“A pleasure, _Mia._ I admire a woman who doesn’t take any nonsense from a man.” This seemed to surprise Mikasa, judging by the slight widening of her eyes, and she even gave him a gentle smile in acknowledgment. Efran chuckled and nodded at Levi. “Especially this stubborn bastard.”

Mikasa’s smile grew. Levi only scowled. “As much as I enjoy shooting the breeze out here, we are on a bit of a time crunch.”

Efran made an elaborate display of exasperation for Mikasa’s benefit before bowing dramatically at Levi. “But of course, yer high and grumpy. Follow me this way.” He turned on his heel and stalked back the way he had come, adding over his shoulder, ”leave the horses. I’ll take care of them when I come back.”

Levi nodded once at Mikasa before adjusting his pack higher upon his shoulder before setting off after Efran.

 

* * *

 

 Mikasa hadn’t said a word since they’d left Mitras, and Levi reluctantly admired the woman’s stoicism. Despite her history of hotheaded outbursts, she’d followed along with this whole charade without pushback. The decision to add her to this mission must have been last minute, given the fact she’d received just a crash course of its details and her role in it before being released into the field the next day.

He’d seen flickers of uncertainty and wariness appear on her face several times, especially when they’d begun their initial descent into the Underground, but she either pushed any questions she had aside or figured them out for herself.

_I’ll keep the rest to myself if you answer the first._

He never did answer her question, he realized, so he made a note to answer any others she had when they were in private later—as well as tell her more about Efran and his history with the man. 

They followed Efran through the security checkpoint, the guards there not even batting an eye as _Liam and Mia_ made their entrance into the Underground.

Efran played his part well, and there was never any trouble. At least, nothing a few bills placed discreetly in the hand of a recalcitrant guard couldn’t fix. 

After a half hour of maneuvering through the broken and dirty streets of the Underground, Efran finally brought them to a filthy, two-story tavern that looked like a Titan had used its roof as a seat at some point in time. Above the front door hung a sign that read _The Black Dog Inn._  

As far as buildings went in the Underground, especially lodgings, this one was in relatively good condition.

”Under your name,” Efran said to Levi, keeping his voice low and motioning to the tavern with a jerk of his chin. 

”Thanks as always, Efran.” Levi reached into his coat and produced a small, unmarked envelope and handed it to the man. He could feel Mikasa’s eyes watching the exchange, but she remained mum. 

”Right, then. I’ll be off,” Efran muttered, nodding to both of them briskly as he pocketed the envelope. ”Take care of yourselves,” he added before turning to leave without another word. 

”Thank you.” It was spoken quietly, but Mikasa’s voice halted Efran in his tracks. He turned back to look at them, a look of mild surprise on his bearded face, before smiling softly and nodding at the raven-haired woman. 

The expression wasn’t one Levi had seen on the man very often, and it made him look significantly younger, the creases in his brow disappearing completely. 

Levi exhaled sharply and made for the inn. This was starting to feel like one long, drawn-out goodbye, and he’d always hated those. He held the door for Mikasa and she muttered a thanks as she passed him and entered the tavern.

He surveyed the dark street once more, casting a quick eye over the shadows and buildings that were rotting on top of each other before following her inside. 

The main floor of the inn was practically dead, with the exception of a squat, elderly man and a very thin young woman, the latter of whom was too busy scrubbing something on the floor to notice the two strangers enter the door. Levi grimaced and tried not to think about what kind of atrocity she was cleaning. 

The man looked up from his position at the bar, setting down a tray of dirty dishes before wiping his hands on his apron and smiling.

”Ah, welcome, travelers. I’m afraid the pub is closed, but we have several rooms avail—”

”Schwartz. I have a room under Liam Schwartz.” Levi pushed his cowl back and ran a hand through his hair. The Barman faltered briefly and glanced over at the young woman, who had ceased her scrubbing to stare at the newcomers.

She gave the older man a soft smile before rising shakily to her feet, tossing the soiled rag she’d been using to the ground with a wet splat. Levi clenched his jaw at the sound.

”I’ve got it, Papa,” she said to the man before addressing Levi. ”I have your room ready, Mr. Schwartz. I’ll show you to it.” Her voice was light, and coupled with her diminutive height—she was probably a full head shorter than Levi—it became startlingly apparent that she was only a child, possibly no older than twelve. No doubt small for her age and severely malnourished, as most children were in the Underground, but a child nonetheless.

Wisps of chestnut-brown hair escaped from the tiretaine kerchief wrapped around her head to caress a narrow face and delicate neck, giving her an almost ethereal, elfin look. Ragged cloth slippers covered her small feet, and she wore a plain-colored dress–which was probably just an adult’s shirt fashioned as a tunic, as she was practically swimming in the thing. 

Her eyes were strange, however. The amber-gold irises were keen like a cat’s, and Levi suspected that the girl saw a lot more than people realized. 

She sent another reassuring smile to her father before motioning for Levi and Mikasa to follow her. She led them up a flight of stairs and down a narrow hallway lined with doors, making a left at the end of the hall before continuing down a short passageway to where another door marked with the number 10 stood. Levi noted how this one was separate from the main hall and mentally praised Efran for booking the most secluded room. 

The girl produced a key from her dress pocket and deftly unlocked the door, holding it open politely for her tenants as they entered the room. “Here we are. It’s not much, but it’s our most comfortable,” she said in a quiet voice, passing the key to Levi. The room was small but surprisingly clean, and Levi wondered if the girl tended to the upkeep of the rest of the inn as vigorously as she’d scrubbed the floor downstairs.

A small table and two chairs sat in the corner, and a stack of wood was piled next to the hearth. The bed was nothing much, but it at least looked comfortable—

Oh.

The bed. Singular.

Mikasa must have registered the same thing at that moment because her eyes shot from the piece of furniture and straight to him. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting–they were posing as a couple, after all–but seeing the lonesome bed pushed against the far wall suddenly made his stomach drop.

He realized the girl was speaking to them again “...and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. My name is Dennard.”

“Thanks, Dennard,” Mikasa said with a smile, her face slightly flushed. 

The girl gave a polite nod before exiting the room, turning one last time before closing the door to say, “oh, and congratulations on your wedding.”

The quiet that ensued after Dennard closed the door was so painfully awkward, that Levi found himself searching the room for something, _anything_ , to busy himself with. He threw his pack onto the floor, trying to make some noise to fill the silence, and zeroed in on the woodpile next to the fireplace.

”I’ll get a fire started. It’s fucking freezing,” he said, turning away from Mikasa and inspecting the hearth with an unnecessary amount of deliberation. He found a matchbook next to the poker and snatched it up.

”I’ll take the floor,” she said, her tone flat. Levi paused his fireplace deliberations to peer at her from over his shoulder.

”Floor’s filthy,” he muttered. ”Besides…” he paused and looked down at the matches in his hand, choosing his words. Finally, he sighed and stood up to face her. Her face remained passive, but he saw her fidget slightly. ”We need to make this look…as realistic as possible.” And then, because she still looked perturbed, “I don’t sleep much, anyway.” 

He didn’t need to elaborate. She averted her eyes to a point beyond him, contemplating his words. He was right, of course–they needed to keep up appearances even behind closed doors and sleeping separately didn’t exactly scream “just married.”

He really, really hated Erwin right now.

”Fine,” Mikasa said at last through gritted teeth, tossing her own bag to the floor next to his own. ”I’m going to use the wash basin,” she gestured toward the large pitcher and bowl on the table. ”Keep your back turned.”

He refrained from making another crack about giving orders, and instead turned his back and resumed his task of starting the fire. He could hear her rustling behind him as he stacked logs and kindling onto the grate, suddenly finding the sound of buckles and buttons being unclasped rather graphic.

He cleared his throat and struck a match forcefully. ”Why aren’t you wearing your scarf?”

It was a dumb question, and he didn’t know why he asked it, but he was searching for anything to break the tension in the air. A belt rattled and fabric slid across skin.

”Mia didn’t seem like a scarf-wearing kind of girl.”

The response was reasonable—they’d forsaken military garb in favor of civilian attire, leaving behind anything unnecessary or distinguishing—but Levi sensed it wasn’t completely true. 

”Fair enough.” He watched the kindling blaze.

Water sounds and mild splashing met his ears, and the image of Mikasa Ackerman bathing suddenly came unbidden to his mind. He tried valiantly to tune out the sound of damp cloth brushing against skin. _Keep talking_. 

”I knew Efran before I joined the Corps. Back when I was living...here.” 

She was silent for a few beats save for the swirling of water before uttering a simple, ”I figured.”

”Erwin needed someone trustworthy, someone I knew well enough to transport our coded messages back and forth.”

”He was the messenger Erwin mentioned?”

Levi could hear her toweling off and felt a sense of relief; he wasn’t cold anymore and the fire was starting to make him sweat, but he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he pulled away from the hearth. ”He’s the one. I wager we’ll get further marching orders by the end of the week.”

”A week?” They’d been keeping their voices low, barely above a whisper, and not in consideration for their neighbors. Mikasa was clearly surprised by his words, her voice rising with the question.

”Keep it down, brat,” he hissed, removing his cloak and tossing it blindly behind him. _Too fucking hot._ ”Are you done yet?” 

”Yeah, hold on, just a sec,” came her disgruntled reply, and then, ”ok, you can turn around.” 

Levi tore himself away from the hearth, tearing at his cravat hastily. Mikasa had changed into a tunic that hit her just above the knee, her clothes folded neatly and placed on one of the chairs. She turned from the table and her eyes widened as she witnessed him unbuttoning his shirt. 

”Easy, brat, I’m not gonna get ya,” Levi said with a scoff as she scurried past him. He wet a fresh cloth with water from the pitcher and dragged the cool fabric across his neck. 

”Thank you,” she said from the bed, her voice small. He turned to look at her, cloth paused mid graze over his shoulder, and saw her dark eyes watching him from the safety of the blankets. ”For answering my questions,” she added to clarify.

He looked away, resuming his wash. ”Sure thing.” He suddenly felt that he should apologize for earlier, especially after she’d behaved herself and refrained from pestering him, but he realized that made her sound too much like some kind of obedient dog. He held his tongue. 

He decided to not make a bigger deal than was necessary about getting into the bed. Mikasa had her back to him, but he still faced the opposite wall, wishing suddenly that a third pillow was available so he could place it between them. 

“Heichou,” she whispered about twenty minutes later. The room had warmed up a little by then thanks to the fire—its faint, orange light flickering up the walls and across the shadowy ceiling. He couldn’t bring himself to reprimand her for speaking his title out in the air. 

”Hn.” 

A pause. The fire crackled.

”How long has it been since you were…” She trailed off, but he knew what she was saying. So far she hadn’t asked him anything about his life in the Underground, and he wondered if this was a question she’d been holding on to for a while. 

”Eleven years.” 

She didn’t move or respond, but he could _feel_ her pause. He didn’t know why he’d answered her. He should have told her to just mind her own business. He waited for her to respond, to ask another question, but when several minutes passed without a word he realized she’d fallen asleep. 

_Eleven years._

He stared at a flickering shadow on the wall. It hadn’t fully hit him until this moment just _how long_ it had been. Of course, it wasn’t like he’d been unaffected by the return to the Underground after all this time. 

But.

Eleven fucking years was a long goddamn time, the more he thought about it. Hell, it was about half a lifetime ago for the brat currently sharing a bed with him. He hadn’t been much older than she was now. He didn’t feel particularly old—and he wasn’t, despite having been past the requisite age when he’d first joined the Corps—but in this moment Levi felt like he’d lived a thousand years.

He thought about the tavern girl and her golden-brown eyes. The eyes of someone who’d lived a lot longer and seen too much. Like him. Like the girl next to him.

Woman, maybe. She wasn’t really a girl anymore. Stopped looking like one a while ago. Not that he really paid attention to that sort of thing.

He closed his weary, too-old eyes, the blaze of the fire burned into his retinas, and fell asleep to the sound of embers and Mikasa Ackerman’s breath.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I confess I actually really enjoyed writing from Levi’s perspective. It occurred to me while rewatching season 1 of the anime that despite how quiet and reserved he is, he actually talks a lot to the Titans he’s killing. So, while everyone else sees him as this silent, brooding dude, I bet he’s totally thinking a million things up in that head. I tried to convey that in the narrative, I guess. Levi: Queen of silent judgment.  
> Also, I have a Tumblr account currently dedicated to this fic. Check it out if you're interested! Pics/art/and comments about the story will reside there. https://moraleewright.tumblr.com


	3. Good Times Bad Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and language in this one, folks. It's goin' down.

Dennard no longer woke from the nightmares screaming. She’d mastered the art of turning into her pillow, letting the fabric soak the tears and muffle her cries. At least this way she could fool Papa into believing that things were getting better.

As much as she hated lying to him, seeing his face lighten in relief when she adamantly reassured him that last night’s terror “wasn’t as bad as the one before,” made suffering in silence worth it.

For the first time in a long while, she missed her mother—a woman whom she’d never even met and had not even a picture of.

“They’re just dreams, baby girl,” her papa would coo as he’d rock her, holding her tenderly as she’d cry away her nightly demons. His words were always spoken so assuredly, but Dennard could tell he felt absolutely useless in those moments. That, and she could see how night after night of being awoken to his daughter’s screams was starting to take a toll on him. Not that he’d ever complain about it. But the added burden of the tavern’s upkeep was a difficult task and he wasn’t a young man anymore—hadn’t been young when she was born, in fact.

So she lied. _Yes, they’re just dreams._

Lately, he would wake in the mornings to find her already risen and starting at her chores for the day, all traces of her nocturnal sufferings erased with the help of several cups of tea. He would smile, she would smile back, and neither would question it. Everything was slowly returning to normal.

But it wasn’t. And the dreams weren’t getting better. If anything, they were _clearer._

Dennard didn’t know why, but she couldn’t shake the fact that the nightmares had worsened ever since the arrival of the strange couple. The Schwartzs kept to themselves, for the most part. They were polite, but she felt that there was something off about them. It was like they didn’t belong, and she didn’t know if it was due to the way they carried themselves or just the way they looked.

The woman’s sable-black hair and striking features were unusual, and Dennard found herself captivated by her. She wasn’t the only one; she’d seen many people, mostly male, regard the strange woman with interest. But no one dared approach her, for as beautiful as she was she was just as equally intimidating. And then there was her husband.

He was slightly shorter than his wife, but no less intimidating, and Dennard could see the power in his strong shoulders and hands. His gaze was perpetually bored, almost sullen, yet just as intense as the woman’s. Together they cut quite the image. Dennard was always hesitant to visit their room to deliver their dinner or laundry for fear of never making it out alive.

Sometimes they met with the tattooed man, and the three of them would sit huddled in a corner of the tavern and visit silently. Their conversation would always halt abruptly whenever Dennard would approach their table with food or drink or to take any used dishes. She liked to pretend that they were assassin’s discussing their next target, or perhaps outlaws on the run.

The tattooed man was visiting again today. They sat in their usual corner booth, heads bowed slightly as they talked and gestured. They were the only ones in the tavern save for a middle aged couple eating dinner at one of the tables in the middle of the room. Dennard was wiping down the bar, halfway hidden behind a tall stack of clean dishes, and she used the vantage to casually observe the trio.

“Spying again?”

She jumped in surprise at her father’s voice and nearly collided into the tower of plates. “I wasn’t,” she began, but couldn’t hide the guilty look on her face. He only smiled and chuckled softly.

“Interesting folk, aren’t they?” He mused, grabbing a few plates from the pile and placing them on a shelf below the bar.

“Who do you think they are, Papa?” She was too curious to not ask.

He put away the last plate before sighing and giving her an unreadable look. “I don’t know, Deedee.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her away from the strange people in the corner booth. “And there are some things that are better off unknown.”

She wanted to ask him what he meant, couldn’t understand why he wasn’t curious about the Schwartzs and their tattooed friend, but she knew better than to argue.

“How are your dreams?” He asked suddenly. Dennard shrugged and resumed her task of wiping down the bar counter.

“Fine.” It was the usual response. A poor lie. She could hear him sigh, but thankfully he didn’t press it.

She wanted to tell him desperately about the recent changes in her dreams, how they’d become more vivid. Wanted to tell him how real the dirt beneath her feet had felt as she ran through the dark tunnel, how she could _smell_ the dank and cold of the air around her.

Mostly she wanted to tell him how horrible it was to see him die in every dream.

The bell on the door chimed and her papa kissed her head before going to greet the new customer. She watched him go, observing how his limp appeared to be worse and his hair grayer than it had been even a few days ago. No one lived long down here in the Underground, but Dennard couldn’t bring herself to think about what would happen when her papa was finally gone.

She had no other family but him and the thought of making it on her own was unbearable. What would happen to the tavern? She practically ran The Black Dog by herself, given her papa’s age, but he handled all the business and money aspects of the establishment–things that were still too daunting for a ten-year-old girl.

She allowed herself another glance at the three assassin-outlaws in the far corner. She almost dropped her washrag when she saw that the woman was staring right at her. They held each other’s eyes for a moment, onyx on amber, before the woman did something quite unexpected.

She smiled.

It was a strange expression for her, Dennard thought, but not unsuited to her face. In fact, it made the dark-haired woman appear suddenly much younger, and accentuated her lovely features. A ray of sun peering through the clouds.

Dennard nodded at her before looking back down at the bartop. She counted to fifty before furtively peering back, but the woman had already resumed her conversation with the men. The sunlight had passed behind a cloud again.

The tattooed man said something that made the woman smirk–a very different expression from the smile she’d given Dennard. The shorter man scowled at his wife, which only made the smirk grow.

They weren’t very affectionate, Dennard noted. Not that she was familiar with the typical interactions between couples, but these two seemed less demonstrative than most. Perhaps they were just very private and preferred to keep even their affection for each other to themselves. Dennard blushed despite herself.

Bar finally clean, she carelessly tossed her rag into the bucket at her feet, forgetting how full it was. She scowled as water sloshed onto the floor and over her bare feet. She bent down to clean up the mess just as a loud bang resounded through the room. A carafe of wine exploded beside her and she dropped to the ground in shock. A woman began screaming. Another bang and her voice went silent.

“Watch your goddamned aim, Galen! Not the fuckin’ girl!” A man’s voice. The sound of a struggle and a chair being upturned violently. A third bang.

Dennard had knocked the bucket of water over unknowingly and she watched frozen as the liquid spread across the floor and mixed with the wine from the shattered carafe. A gun. Someone had shot a gun and it hit the back of the bar. She’d almost been shot.

She realized she was crying, silently, but the tears were streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks. She wanted her papa then. He had gone to greet the patrons at the door, but she didn’t see him come back, and this was all feeling dreadfully familiar.

Her dreams suddenly seemed foolish–because this was real, this was actually happening, and it felt more vivid than even the worst of her nightmares. Despite this, she felt she was somehow outside of herself, like she was witnessing everything that was happening to her and not really experiencing it. Everything was happening so quickly, but it seemed like an eternity between each droplet of wine that fell from the counter. A sob escaped her mouth unbidden.

_Drip._

Another crash. Not a chair, but something had been thrown. She heard several grunts and curses–people were fighting. Her mind was reeling, unable to focus on just one thing, and she wondered if this is how those frightened horses felt when they pranced about all wall-eyed. She should move, she needed to get out of here. She needed to find Papa.

_Drop._

Large, foreign hands grasped her arms firmly and hauled her upwards. She hadn’t even heard him come up behind her. She tried kicking against the man’s grip, but he only shook her roughly and lugged her over his shoulder.

She was weeping openly now, hysterical. She hardly recognized her own voice. She scrabbled against the man’s grip as he carried her away from the bar, where she finally got a good look at the rest of the room.

The middle aged couple were dead, their bodies collapsed around the wreckage of their table and uneaten dinner. The sight that shocked Dennard to silence, however, was the dark-haired woman squaring off with a man much larger than she.

But the way the woman moved, she was clearly an experienced fighter, precise and deadly, and suddenly the notion of her being some kind of assassin didn’t seem so far-fetched.

Dennard didn’t get to see anymore of the scene–her captor had now taken her out of the tavern completely. The cool air hit her like a slap, like a reminder, and suddenly she was struggling again to free herself. The man holding her was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him. She finally managed to arch her back, lifting herself up from his shoulder, but she paused instantly when she looked up at the tavern.

There at the door, slumped over himself and bleeding out, was her papa. A scream tore itself from Dennard’s throat and she reached for him in vain, her tears blurring the image of his form. She called out for him in desperation. Her captor pulled her off his shoulder and clamped a damp cloth over her mouth. She gagged and wailed against the rag, a caustic scent overwhelming her senses.

And as her world went black she realized that they had never been dreams at all.

 

* * *

 

She really did hate him, she was sure of that now. Killing Titans was more enjoyable than this. At least Titans didn’t talk back or order her about.

As inscrutable as the captain was, she knew he deeply enjoyed pissing her off. As they had to maintain their outward appearance, getting into a physical altercation was out of the question. Still, she entertained herself by fantasizing about the various ways she could upend the midget in a fight.

He wouldn’t be easy to best, she knew. But that was precisely _why_ she itched to fight him. Because it would be difficult _._ A challenge.

Unlike with Kirstein, who had one of those punchable-looking faces, she wouldn’t derive satisfaction from injuring the captain, per se, but rather from witnessing the look on his face when she’d finally defeated him. Because until then he’d think she wouldn’t be able to.

Cocky son of a bitch.

“Oi, brat,” the man himself barked. He didn’t even bother to look up from the letter he was writing as he addressed her. “If you make that sighing noise one more time, I’m gonna roll up a pair of your socks and stuff them in your mouth.”

Mikasa silently cursed herself for getting too caught up in her thoughts. “Sorry, I was getting bored waiting for you,” she replied smoothly, studying a knot in the wooden table and feigning nonchalance.

“I get that you’re a child, but it’s not my job to entertain you.”

“I just didn’t realize how long it took you to write a damn letter.”

This was usually how their conversations went; if punching each other was out of the question, then they would have to settle for verbal jabs.

“And here I thought it was usually the husband who was ready first,” she added under her breath but loud enough for him to hear. She knew the spouse thing was usually a trump card. And she enjoyed watching the twitch in his jaw.

He was silent for a moment, the scribble of pen across paper the only sound between them. Finally, he murmured, “and here I thought it rude if the man finished first.”

It took her a second, but his words eventually caught up to her and she could feel her face burst into flames. He chose that moment to look up and she knew he could see her scarlet complexion. He’d won this round and he knew it, judging by the spark of triumph in his slate eyes.

She quickly rose from her seat, the room suddenly way too hot for her liking. He’d made some low blows before but had never pulled anything like _that._ And what made it all the more worse was how effectively it had worked. She would have expected a quip like that to come from someone like Conny or Jean, but never him. He’d basically just roundhouse kicked her flat onto her ass without even batting an eye.

“I’m tired of waiting for you. I’ll be downstairs,” she huffed, unable to meet his gaze. She would surely smack him if she had to look any longer at his conceited expression.

“Finished. I’ll come with you.” He rose from his chair while tucking his completed letter into an envelope. “Ladies first,” he added, but she was already out the door, not even bothering to hold it open for him. She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

Arrogant bastard.

When she arrived downstairs, Efran was already seated at their usual corner table. The tattooed man was clearly deep in thought, his full brow drawn as he glowered into the depths of his ale.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Efran,” Mikasa sighed, slipping into the chair across from him. He looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled warmly, furrowed brow softening into a kind expression.

“Hello, lovely.” He pushed one of the tankards toward her and she accepted it with a nod. “Was His Majesty powdering his nose?”

As much as she had been initially hesitant to trust this man—the plethora of tattoos and his solid build made him appear rather formidable—he had quickly won her over with his sense of humor. Especially his cracks at the expense of the captain.

They both tried desperately to control their mirth as Levi joined the table, but he just scowled at them and shook his head.

“Sorry to interrupt your little klatch,” he grumbled as he sat down beside Mikasa. He pulled his finished letter from his pocket and passed it across the table to Efran. The man immediately sobered and took the proffered envelope.

“To the big guy it goes,” he said with a curt nod, tucking the letter into a pocket inside his coat. “Any verbal messages you wanna relay?”

Levi shook his head, taking a gulp of his ale. Mikasa stared thoughtfully down at her own drink, wishing not for the first time that she could pass on her own message. She knew Erwin was probably keeping Eren and Armin informed on the state of her mission, at least as much as secrecy would allow him, but she still wished to convey to them directly that she missed them.

Her goodbye hadn’t been enough. Whatever excitement or pride they’d expressed upon hearing of her promotion to lieutenant had quickly been overshadowed by her impending departure. The closest any of them had been to the Underground had been that failed attempt long ago to trap Annie at one of its entrances, yet any description they’d ever heard of the subterranean city painted it as a bleak and dismal existence. This, coupled with the covert nature of the expedition itself, was enough to make both her friends extremely reluctant for her to leave.

But orders were orders.

“We’ve reason to believe that the Redeemers are using the tunnels,” Levi muttered quietly. “That’s how all these kids keep disappearing.”

Mikasa instinctively glanced around the room to count its occupants. It was practically barren, aside from an older couple who sat in one of the dining tables, oblivious to anything outside their own conversation. Mikasa’s eyes passed over them and to the bar, where she noticed the waifish serving girl, Dennard, speaking with the tavern owner. Her father, Mikasa recalled.

“The tunnels? The ones leading to the unfinished cities?” Efran kept his own voice low, but she could hear the interest in his tone. Levi nodded in affirmation. “Sweet Maria, how did you find that out?”

“It’s all in the letter.” Levi nodded at Efran’s jacket where the document was safely stowed. Levi had no qualms about their courier perusing his parcels before they reached their intended destination. “Let’s just say that this past month wasn’t spent idly twiddling our thumbs.”

Mikasa nodded absently. The weeks had blurred by it seemed, consisting mainly of being in the right place at the right time and talking to the right people. Levi had once referred to the Underground as a “colony of thieves and rats,” and she supposed it was true. Then again, the extent of corruption a person was willing to go to for the promise of a few coins wasn’t exactly unique to the Underground.

Efran chuckled and shook his head. Mikasa didn’t know the history between the two men, but it was obvious to her that they had known each other before Levi joined the Corps. While _friends_ may have been too strong a word, the two men obviously held a certain level of respect and trust for each other.

She hadn’t once asked Levi about his life in the Underground. For whatever reason, she got the impression that it was a subject he preferred to keep to himself. Occasionally he’d let slip a bit of information or a certain memory he had about the place, but she never pressed it further.

She could hear it in his voice when he spoke to the people here, even to Efran. It was subtle, but something about him changed. No, _revealed_ itself, perhaps. In those moments she found herself wondering what a young Levi looked like. She thought of Sasha, how the girl’s accent came out when she spoke of her village.

Mikasa looked again to the young serving girl at the bar, who was now alone, and let the conversation between the two men beside her fade into the background as she studied the waif.

She was incredibly small, both in height and weight, and her skin was so pale. Mikasa found this strange; though living conditions in the Underground were far from ideal with most of its inhabitants going years without seeing a ray of sunlight, some people managed to make enough of a living in order to afford food on a regular basis. By the Underground’s standards, The Black Dog wasn’t exactly a struggling or decrepit establishment. And she’d seen the girl eat.

As if aware she was being watched, the waif’s eyes suddenly connected with Mikasa’s. There was a familiar pain in her amber eyes, a weariness found in soldiers. Not little girls. Dennard wasn’t the only child with haunted eyes, Mikasa knew, but there was a quality to her honey-colored gaze that reminded her of someone. Eren, most likely, or maybe even herself.

For perhaps this reason, Mikasa smiled at the girl. A look of surprise flitted over Dennard’s face, yellow eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, she nodded—which Mikasa thought was a rather adult-like gesture for one so young—before resuming her wiping of the bartop.

“Oi, quit fading out.” Levi snapped his fingers underneath her nose. Both men were regarding her now, Efran with an amused expression on his chiseled face.

“Do you usually address your wife like this?” He sent Mikasa a wink and she smiled back at him. It had become somewhat of a treasured past time of theirs to gang up on the fractious captain.

“Brat,” Levi sneered under his breath, sending her a glare that only made her grin.

She looked back at Efran, prepared to further their little game of mock-the-captain but the words quickly died on her tongue when she saw his grave expression focused on something behind her. “Efran?”

He spoke without meeting her gaze, his voice almost inaudible. “Something’s not right.”

She felt Levi tense beside her, but they both refrained from turning to look behind them. Efran’s right hand slowly left his tankard and slipped under the table, most likely to grasp the knife he kept buckled at his hip.

“The innkeeper went to greet some people at the door—I couldn’t see who—but he hasn’t returned.”

“So?” Levi drawled, but his finger tapped a soundless beat against the table.

“ _So_ , now there’s this big motherfucker standing in the foray looking like trouble.” Efran’s face suddenly changed to a broad smile and he locked eyes with Mikasa. The man in the foray must have glanced in their direction. “Something’s _definitely_ not right,” Efran repeated through his teeth, forced grin still in place as he pretended to nod at whatever interesting thing Mikasa was saying.

“Armed?” Levi pushed his ale away from him.

“Can’t tell. Probably.” Mikasa heard the dull slide of steel against leather. “Fuck. Four, maybe five other guys, now. Not nearly as big, but still bad news. I think—FUCK!”

Suddenly, Mikasa was on her back, the fall from her chair so sudden that it took her a moment to register that Efran had _kicked_ her onto the floor. A loud bang sounded from behind her, adding to her confusion, and she scrambled to right herself from her turtled position. She heard Levi’s voice, strained, like he was struggling, shouting something incomprehensible. Her name. He was saying her name. Her _real_ name.

“Ackerman! Move!”

She looked up at that moment to see one of the men looming over her, a vicious sneer on his face, knife raised above his head and prepared to strike. The shock that had frozen her limbs quickly evaporated, and years of training suddenly kicked in. She waited for the man’s knife to begin its deadly arc forward before she rolled back onto her shoulder blades, striking out with her foot and knocking the blade free from his hand. She didn’t wait for him to recover, following through with her other foot and driving it into his stomach. The man bent forward with an _oof,_ and the heel of her palm slammed upward into his nose.

She felt more than heard the crunch beneath her hand. His head whipped back with the impact and his eyes glazed over, blood pouring freely from his ruined face. She knew he was dead before he even hit the ground but she didn’t wait to see him fall, leaping to her feet and quickly assessing the room.  

Someone was screaming—the middle aged woman, her hands fluttering uselessly about her neck as she glanced between the bar and the men. Before Mikasa could even call out, one of the men lifted his gun again and shot her in the face.

“Watch your goddamned aim, Galen! Not the fuckin’ girl!” a very large man roared. Mikasa was sure she had never seen a man so giant before. He could probably tear a two-meter class apart with his bare hands. Definitely the _big motherfucker_ Efran had described.

Mikasa turned to the bar again; he was talking about Dennard. _Oh, God, they’ve shot her. She’s not there._

The husband of the dead woman leapt out of his chair, sending it skittering across the floor as he backed away from the sight of his dead wife. The man named Galen didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, ignoring the protests of the giant man. Efran roared from across the room and sent his knife flying through the air, where it planted itself firmly between the gunman’s eyes.

Weapon. She needed a weapon. The knife she’d kicked away from her assailant had disappeared somewhere under the tables, and she didn’t have time to search for it. She rolled the deadman onto his back roughly with her foot and crouched down to rifle through his person for any hidden weapons. She almost gave up—she was wasting time—when her hand coursed over something cold and metal. Not a blade, but a thin wire wrapped around two small, metal bars that were clearly meant for holding.

It was a garrote.

Dennard screamed in that moment, the sound sending a simultaneous rush of both relief and dread through Mikasa’s body. She whipped around in search of the girl, pausing in horror as she saw a tall man with oily-looking red hair lifting her over his shoulder. Dennard was wailing, voice broken and raw, and her tiny fists beat uselessly against the tall man’s back. Big Motherfucker was laughing at the sight.

She didn’t look, but she could hear Levi wrestling with one of the remaining thugs, could hear them grunting in exertion, but she had to trust that he had the situation under control. Near the foyer, she could see Efran landing the final blows to his own opponent, fist raining down on the man’s face without mercy.

“Care to dance, Princess?” The big motherfucker. She would have laughed at the irony of being stuck with him if her veins weren’t currently ablaze with adrenaline. She caught a glimpse of Dennard slumped over the red haired man’s shoulder just before they exited the tavern, Dennard’s screams echoing all the way outside.

Eyes back on the big man—who was watching her like a cat observes a mouse—she called out, “Efran!” She hoped the man had subdued his adversary by now and could hear her. “The girl!”

“Good luck catching Rikard,” Big Motherfucker sneered. They began circling each other slowly. “He’s one of the fastest. And that little girl looks like she weighs less than a sack ‘a grain.”

“Mikasa!” Efran, his voice agitated. A question. _What should I do?_ He was torn, she knew; leave her here severely outmatched with this man, or pursue the girl?

“The girl, Efran!” She repeated. A command. Her back was now to him, but she could hear his swift feet take off across the foyer and disappear out the door. Levi was now in her periphery, grappling with not one but _two_ men. How had this all happened? They’d been so careful. _And why take the girl?_

“Sorry for all the violence, Princess. My boys can get a lil’ excited on a job. There’s a more civil way we can do this.” The large man looked her up and down, a dark purpose in his eyes. “Sucha pity to damage a lovely body like yours.”

Speed was her best tactic. He was much larger and much stronger than she.

“Of course...maybe you like it a little rough.”

Mikasa bared her teeth at him, deepening her crouch and preparing for the fight. He was toying with her, trying to rile her up. She tightened her grip on the garrote in her hand.

“I bet ya get loud, don’t ya.” He grabbed at his crotch in a lewd display, his demeanor way too confident. She needed to flip the tables, work him up and use his rage to her advantage. “I like it when they scream.”

Without warning, he was racing toward her, barely affording Mikasa time to spin under his meaty arms and out of his way. The man was like a charging boar, roaring and stomping across the room. They repeated this dance, and each time she slipped through his fingers he became more frustrated. Pretty soon he was throwing chairs and knocking over tables just to get to her.

In a particularly close call with a flying chair, she slammed backwards against the bar, hands grasping blindly for something— _anything_ —to use as a weapon. The garrote was useless at far range. The timing needed to be perfect...

Her fingers found purchase on the neck of a wine bottle and she smashed it over his head before diving away. The blow didn’t seem to slow him down but only angered him further, his nostrils flaring in rage.

“Wretched little _cunt!”_ He screamed, lunging again.

Mikasa was ready this time. She ducked as before under his outstretched arms, but instead of rolling away she planted her foot against his hipbone, using his upper arm to haul herself up and around so that she straddled his shoulders. He floundered briefly, obviously confused, which allowed her barely enough time to whip the wire loose. She grasped the metal rods at each end firmly and brought the center of the wire to meet his neck.

And she _pulled._

The gurgling, hacking sound he produced only made Mikasa tighten her chokehold. She’d never used this weapon before and the rods felt clumsy and foreign in her hands, the wire too long. He slapped and grappled at the wire and at her thighs with desperate hands, careening forward as if he could run away from the assault, only to then stumble backward again.

He was panicking. He dove toward the wall to try and rid her from his shoulders but she steered him away with the garrote-reins, inching her grip higher on the filament and foregoing the rods in favor of better leverage.

Finally, senseless with pain and clearly losing focus, the man practically fell backwards onto the bartop in a last-ditch effort to knock her from him. But Mikasa’s grip never faltered. If anything, the position aided her and sealed his fate.

Her thighs were now soaked with his blood, the noises he made nearly inhuman as he continued to pat desperately at his throat. But he was still fighting. She shimmed her back along the bartop and lifted her feet to his shoulders.

She ignored the biting pain in her hands as she pulled up on the wire as hard as she could while simultaneously pressing down on his shoulders. The wire was slick with blood, her grip dangerously close to slipping. Finally, with one last gurgling squeal, the man fell limp against her. The wire slid deep into his neck like a blade through cheese.

Mikasa lay there for a few moments, panting, covered in blood and sweat. The large man slipped off the bartop with little assistance from her, his heavy body hitting the ground with a crash. She let the garrote join him as she inspected the damage it had done to her hands. The wounds weren’t bad, thankfully, and wouldn’t hinder her grip too much, but they smarted like mad.

“Mikasa.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Levi’s voice. He was standing across the room, a knife in his hand—she recognized it as the one belonging to the first man she’d fought. The bodies of his two adversaries lay at his feet. She met his eyes and was startled to see the look of horror there as he took in the sight of her.

She glanced down at herself, at her bloodied hands and stomach and thighs. Perched on the counter like this, covered in gore and panting from exertion, she probably resembled some kind of wild animal.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, voice surprisingly steady. “You?”

Levi glanced down at her bloodied front before visibly collecting himself. He nodded curtly and bent to wipe the bloody blade in his hand against the pant leg of a dead man.

“The girl. Dennard,” Mikasa scrambled from the bartop as she spoke, stepping over Big Motherfucker’s lifeless form. “Efran went after them.”

“Did you see which way they went?” Levi asked as he followed her to the foyer.

“No, but I think…” She trailed off when she rounded the corner of the foyer and saw the innkeeper slumped against the wall near the front door. He was alive, she could see the shallow rise and fall of his chest, but the knife wounds in his gut were critical.

The man shifted, hand sliding from his lap to land in the pool of blood below him with a sticky thump. Mikasa rushed to his side, fingers gingerly assessing his wounds even though she knew he was beyond saving.

“Denn…ard,” he wheezed, ashen face lifting with effort to look at Mikasa.

“We’ll get her.” She gripped the man’s hand in her own, ignoring the sting of his icy fingers against her injured palms. The innkeeper opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, like he was trying to say something but the words just wouldn’t come out.

Levi knelt beside them. “What is it?” His voice was soft, gentler than she’d ever heard it before, and she lifted her face to him in surprise. His expression was as stoic as always, but his eyes lacked their usual edge. He leaned forward at the dying man’s beckoning. His words were merely a breath in Levi’s ear, too quiet for Mikasa to catch. Then, he gave a final, shuttering sigh and went still.

“Fuck,” Levi breathed.

“What? Captain, what did he say?”

Levi didn’t answer immediately, reaching up to close the innkeepers eyes with a gentle press of his fingers. “We have to find that kid.”

“What did he say to you?”

Levi looked up at her then, and the look in his eyes made Mikasa’s stomach drop.

“Dennard. Dennard’s the Titan shifter.”

 

* * *

 

Eren was pretty sure he’d never seen someone laugh so hard before.

He failed to see exactly what was so amusing about what he’d just said, and yet the sound of her adorable _ta-ha-ha_ giggle was so infectious that he couldn’t help but join in himself.

“What is so funny?” He wheezed, still flummoxed as to why they were currently clutching their stomachs in hysteria.

She looked up at him with tears streaming down her rosy face. “B-b-because...it just is!” She barely managed to squeak out the words before she was consumed by another bout of laughter.

After they’d wiped their eyes and sighed with half relief, half discomfort, Eren inhaled a shaky breath and spoke again. “Ok, maybe it’s a _little_ bit funny, but c’mon, Rubie.”

The redhead chuckled but thankfully didn’t dissolve back into another fit. ”Eren, it’s hilarious enough to think of the corporal married. But the corporal _and_ Mikasa? To each other?”

”But they aren’t, really!” Eren smirked; it _was_ pretty odd to think of those two individuals getting married, and near impossible to think of them marrying each other. It did make sense, however, in context with their current mission.

Needless to say, he hadn’t burst into laughter in Erwin’s office when the commander briefed him about it. He could only imagine how the situation would have gone down had Rubie been there…

”I feel bad for them a little bit, actually. They’re kinda the worst people to be paired together. Alone. No buffer.” She grimaced slightly and rolled onto her stomach, the bed sheets tangling around her bare torso.

Eren shook his head and scoffed. ”I really hope they don’t end up killing each other.” He was only half joking. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t trust Erwin’s judgement, and Mika and Captain Levi are two of the most competent people I know, but I just think they were the wrong choice to send out for this. Together, I mean.”

Rubie shook her head. “I disagree.”

Eren was momentarily distracted when his lover untangled herself from the sheets and stood from the bed, the light escaping through the drawn curtains illuminating the pale skin of her bare backside.

She turned and smiled impishly, red hair like fire in the light. “Eren,” she intoned.

“Yes, my love…” Very distracted.

“Did you hear me?”

“You disagree. Why?”

Rubie sighed, mildly exasperated, and began to dress. “The captain and Mikasa are the _only_ choice for this mission.”

“But they’re so…different. Mikasa hates him. I think she still resents him for knocking me around in the courtroom all those years ago, despite the fact that it wasn’t really—“

“Eren.” She arched a red brow at him, an expression he’d become quite familiar with over the course of their relationship. It always shut him up. “They may have their differences, but for the most part I think the reason they don’t get along is because they’re too _similar.”_

Eren opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but stopped as he considered her words; she had a point. “They both have...strong personalities, I suppose.”

Rubie giggled and nodded, climbing fully clothed back onto the bed and sitting beside him.

“Rube, I wasn’t actually supposed to tell you all of this,” Eren muttered, fidgeting with a corner of the sheets. “It’s supposed to be...confidential.”

Rubie placed her pale hand atop his much larger tanned one, her soft fingers tracing gently over his roughened knuckles. “You worry a lot, Eren Jaeger.”

It wasn’t a jab, merely an observation, her tone hinting at sympathy. Eren looked up at her face, green eyes meeting green. He saw the deepness in her gaze, the understanding. She was no soldier, but she understood his anger, his burning need to protect the people and things he loved.

She understood him. And that’s why he loved her—why he trusted her.

“You don’t need to worry about this.”

He didn’t ask her if she meant not to worry about Mikasa and the captain, or that he’d confided in her. Both, probably. And she was usually right about a lot of things.

“I love you,” he breathed. She must have seen something in his eyes, because her breath hitched and her mouth parted. That mouth…

He leaned forward and captured her soft lips with his own, enjoying the familiar dance they’d long since perfected with each other. She sighed softly and traced his tongue with his own. Perfected, indeed.

Eren gasped suddenly when her small hand maneuvered to cup his crotch through the thin sheets. “Little minx,” he growled, and she captured his lower lip between her teeth with a throaty chuckle.

He was about half a second away from ripping away her clothes and getting her naked again when an urgent knock sounded at the door.

They groaned in unison. Eren glared at the door, half tempted to ignore whomever was outside and go back to kissing Rubie—whose hand was still cupping him—but the knocking turned into a banging.

“Eren! Open up!” It was Armin. He recognized the note of distress in his friend’s voice. Couldn’t ignore this one.

Rubie needed no word from him before she was leaping from the bed and making for the door. Eren frantically pulled his pants on and zipped them up. He grabbed for his shirt just as the door opened to reveal an agitated Armin and Hanji.

“Commander Hanji. Armin. What’s wrong?” Rubie asked, moving aside so the two soldiers could step into the room.

Armin faltered for a moment, looking between Eren and Rubie and their messy bed with a flushed face. Hanji was the one to answer, turning to address Rubie with a manic sort of gleam in her bespectacled eyes. “I’m gonna need your expertise on this one, Flanagan.”

The redhead narrowed her emerald eyes at the woman, concern etched into her brow. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Well, we found one of the missing kids,” Armin added quickly, seemingly recovered from his discomfiture. He shared a look with Hanji that made Eren’s stomach drop. “The body, that is.”

Rubie gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Dead?” They nodded in unison. “Why do you need me? How can I help?”

“Given your experience with herbs and traditional forms of medicine…” Hanji trailed off, and Eren thought he’d never seen the woman look so at a loss for words. “…well, I don’t even know what I’m saying. I haven’t even seen something like this before—“

“Just say it already, Hanji,” Eren barked, the words harsher than he’d intended.

Hanji hesitated and looked at him with that same manic expression, which Eren realized now was more a look of desperation. “I think it would be easier if we just showed you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with the quality of this one. But then again I tend to over think things. Anyone catching the theme here with the chapter names? ;)


	4. Black Mountain Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for their words of encouragement and for all the kudos! It really makes a girl feel good, and certainly keeps the creative juices flowing. As a thank you, I've cranked out TWO chapters. Long ones, too. Once again, lemme know your thoughts. I did a cursory edit on them, but this fic isn't beta'd, and I'm a busy gal. Enjoy ;)

There were many things Hanji Zoe understood quite well. Blood, for starters.

Blood was messy, yes, and bodies smelled. But there were answers in blood, in a body; everything had a purpose, a cause and effect, and if one could look past the assault certain substances brought to the senses, answers could be easily found and analyzed.

She wasn’t so dogged in her pursuit for knowledge—nor so analytical—that she found herself estranged from sentiment, however. In fact, she often wondered if she felt things _too_ keenly. But knowing that these emotions, fickle and ephemeral as they may be, were the corollary of one’s circumstances made them easier to wrangle. Made them easier to understand.

Science made sense, after all, numbers made sense. All of these stimuli were problems and equations that made up a formula. Formulas could be understood.

Hanji Zoe could not, however, understand this.

A child. Who could do this to a child? There was no formula for this, no equation. A problem, certainly, but one she had no answer for.

“Can you estimate a time of death?” Erwin’s voice betrayed no emotion, but she knew it was only a pretense; he understood the formula as well.

“Recent,” she said with a deep inhale. _Steady, now._  “Maybe four hours ago?”

She heard Armin swear under his breath, his blue eyes taking in the small body before shutting tightly, mouth set in a tight line. Eren stood beside his friend, watching grimly as Rubie inspected the child’s cold body with trained hands.

The red-haired girl had proven her skill multiple times over, and Hanji had been forced long ago to overlook the initial prejudice she’d held about the more “traditional” approach to medicine when she’d witnessed the girl work; she may have been an honest country girl with no formal training, and certainly no military experience whatsoever, but she was more than adept at treating wounds and addressing the human anatomy. She was more than competent, and Hanji could see why Eren had taken a shine to her.

After concluding her cursory examination of the dead boy’s body, Hanji sighed heavily and folded her arms, mind reeling with unsolved questions and _so many emotions._ A dense silence settled among the group as they regarded the corpse before them.

The boy couldn’t have been much older than nine, though his bones were alarmingly delicate, and he’d obviously been malnourished. Mottled bruises and angry-red lacerations stood out in stark relief against his ashen-pale flesh, and rope burns were visible upon his small wrists and ankles.

Whoever had kidnapped him had obviously kept him tied up for long periods of time, judging by the scarred flesh under the fresh wounds, but the question that roared the loudest for Hanji was whether he’d managed to escape from his captors or if they’d decided to dump him. Probably the latter.

Yes, she couldn’t comprehend this. War made more sense than this. War was the byproduct of humanity and its greed; violence was a problem humanity had created long ago, one which had since developed its own formula and solutions. A cycle of causes and effects throughout history. Yet, so often children were the casualties.

“I just don’t understand,” Rubie breathed, voicing Hanji’s own thoughts. “He was just a boy.” The end of her words became a small whisper as emotion threatened to overtake her voice.

“For now we need to sort out the _who_ instead of the why,” Erwin cut in, face unreadable. He turned to Hanji then, staring down at her with those intensely blue eyes and opened his mouth to say something. Whether it was a question or command Hanji would never know, for at that moment Moblit burst through the door of her study as violently as if a horde of Titans were hot on his heels.

“Commander!” he screeched, not even bothering to form a salute as he stumbled through the doorway, gesturing faster than his winded words could follow. “Lieutenant Ackerman—she—the mission—!”

“Moblit! Slow down!” Hanji grasped the man by his shoulders firmly in an attempt to calm him, but he only whipped back around to face the door he’d just barreled through. Hanji’s words died on her tongue as Efran stumbled into the room carrying an unconscious Mikasa.

She only froze for a moment, taking in the horrific sight of the Lieutenant’s bleeding body, limp in the tattooed man’s massive arms, before she was knocking papers and random objects off of the nearby table, not caring as they tumbled and crashed onto the floor.

Eren wasted no time in assisting Efran in lifting the unconscious girl onto the cleared surface, her body small and almost childlike in their arms. He hastily removed his jacket and bundled it up, placing it under the girl’s dark head like a pillow.

The room was suddenly alive with noise; Erwin was shouting commands left and right, and someone sprinted out of the room on an order—probably Armin—but Hanji paid the distractions no mind as she focused instead on the injured girl before her.

She was in bad shape. Hanji looked up at the man who’d carried her in, and he answered her unspoken question without hesitation.

“An explosion. Knocked her out. Those Redeemer fuckers had explosives. We barely got out of there.” His voice was steady, but she could see the alarm in his eyes. He wasn’t exactly in good condition, either, and he looked nearly dead on his feet from exhaustion.

She looked back down at Mikasa’s battered form. An _explosion?_ There was more to it than that, obviously; she had multiple injuries, some of them appearing like they were sustained in an altercation, but the explosion explained the mild charing on her clothes and hair.

“This arm is broken,” she announced, maneuvering Mikasa’s damaged limb with careful hands. “I’ll need to set it so it’ll heal properly. Rubie, help me.”

The red-head didn’t need to be prompted twice, her arms already full of gauze and other medical implements. Eren stumbled away from the table, half in shock but also to give the two women room to work.

“Start from the beginning.” Erwin demanded, turning from the unconscious soldier to round on Efran. The man nodded gravely but didn’t balk under the commander’s gaze.

“Wait!” Eren, silent until now, nearly shouted the word. “Where is Captain Levi?”

The room suddenly became very still and very grim, and Hanji felt a chilling squeeze in her gut as intuition crept along her spine. Her head snapped up to look at Efran, and she could see Erwin in her periphery do the same. And _fuck_ she already knew the answer.

The alarm was back in the tattooed man’s expression, and the squeeze in her gut tightened painfully. Closing his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to see their faces, he simply shook his head.

“I’m so sorry.”

 

* * *

 

Tracking had never been her strong suit. She wasn’t bad at it, but she definitely didn’t hold a candle to someone like Sasha. Her father had been excellent at it and had shown her the basics when she was a child. Needless to say, the skill hadn’t been exercised much after his death; Grisha Jaeger was a competent man, but a doctor didn’t have much use for tracking or other hunting skills, and she’d always been better at killing Titans than finding them.

Mikasa really wished she’d paid more attention to this area of her training.

Tracking a kidnapper through the filthy streets of the Underground didn’t seem too complicated in theory, but streets were much different from forests and dirt paths. Tracking a kidnapper while being chased yourself definitely didn’t make it any easier.

She weaved through stalls and bounded over crates, hearing the curse of a vendor or the gasp of a passerby as she tore through the square. She wondered where Levi was but didn’t dare slow her pace to look around for him.

They hadn’t wasted any more time at the Black Dog; Efran’s trail was still fresh, and neither of them fancied explaining the scene to the Military Police, who would undoubtedly have a field day giving two Survey Corps members—undercover, though they were—ultimate hell.

Levi was much better at following tracks than she. And he was also _fast._ It was a different kind of speed than what he exhibited in the air cutting down Titans with his gear. Mikasa, admittedly, struggled to imagine a man like Levi ever living in a place like the Underground. Sure, he could be surly and coarse, but his inherent nature seemed too refined for the squabble of these streets.

But then he’d started running. The movements of someone who’d had a lifetime of experience doing it.

It was quite remarkable to witness, actually, the way he leaped over obstacles and used his environment to his advantage. Mikasa’s limbs were long—made for endurance and lengthy movements—whereas Levi’s strong, compact body was perfect for zipping around tight corners and quick bursts of speed. It seemed natural, like he’d done this before many times, and it wasn’t long before he’d completely outpaced her.

Neither of them altered their pace at the separation—their objective was the same, and Mikasa hoped her captain’s agility would get him to Efran and the girl sooner.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of bitterness about being stuck fleeing a bunch of thugs. She couldn’t remember exactly when she first realized she was being followed—perhaps upon first entering this bustling marketplace—but they definitely weren’t MP. She’d gone from being the cat in the chase to the fleeing mouse, and she didn’t like it one bit.

She threw a glance behind her after narrowly dodging a cart, gasping when she saw how close her pursuers were. Two men. Definitely not MP. She needed to lose them, and running blindly through the open plaza was doing her no favors.

Mikasa pivoted abruptly to her right and made for the pathway bisecting two houses, narrowly avoiding a devastating collision with a crouching beggar in the process. She could hear the men behind her shouting after her but didn’t chance another look at them.

The blood that soaked her tunic and pants had now dried, making the fabric stiff and awkward to run in. The man’s death had been brutal—no more gruesome than the Titan’s she’d killed, but his blood didn’t evaporate like theirs and it was sticking to her skin like a grim reminder of what she’d just done.

The rapid pound of her feet echoed against the sides of the brick buildings as she rounded the corner of another house, weaving and cutting through the maze of dilapidated buildings until her legs and lungs were burning for respite.

_One more corner. Just one more corner and I’ll lose them._

The cobblestone beneath her feet became abruptly more uneven as she finally broke free from the warren of houses and burst onto a deserted backstreet. She hesitated for a brief second, looking to either side of the darkened street in desperation before choosing to head left. The sound of her pursuers’ feet ricocheted through the labyrinth she’d just emerged from, sending a flare of adrenaline through her gut. _Hide._

The backstreet was gloomy and ripe with shadows. Mikasa tried to soften her footfalls without sacrificing her speed, all while looking frantically for somewhere— _anywhere—_ to hide.

She spun into a shadowed alley just as she heard the clamor of the men emerging onto the open street. She slunk deeper into the gloom, for once more afraid of what was lurking outside the shadows. Her heart sunk as she took in her hideout. A deadend. She had trapped herself.

“Where did she go?”

“How would I know? I lost her on that turn back there.”

Mikasa listened to their gruff voices and clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her breath as her lungs heaved for air.

“You go left and I’ll go right?” There wasn’t a response, so the other man must have agreed to the suggestion.

The sound of their running feet echoed over the cobblestone once more, one pair getting audibly closer to her position in the alley. There was nowhere else to run, and resuming the chase back onto the street seemed like suicide. Breath somewhat wrangled, Mikasa removed her hand and steeled herself for a fight, lamenting her lack of weapon and wishing she’d held onto that garrotte. _Please don’t turn here, please don’t turn here…_

She hugged the cold brick wall of the alleyway and waited like a tensed cat as the man’s racing feet neared...and passed. She allowed herself a shaky exhale as she listened to the sound of his boots decrease in volume. She would need to wait it out a little bit before leaving the alley, but the anxious need to get away gripped her heart—he would most definitely check the alleyway on his second pass. Maybe if she could get to the rooftop—

Suddenly there was a hand on her mouth and a strong arm encircling her waist, hauling her back further into the shadows. She recovered quickly from the shock of the ambush and began throwing her elbows back in an attempt to catch her assailant in the kidneys or ribs. Mikasa couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this taken by surprise in a fight. She hadn’t seen anything but brick and gloom in this dead end alley, _so where had they come from?_

The hand—a man’s, without a doubt—that covered her mouth moved to cross over her body, effectively clamping her arms firmly to her sides. The scrape of teeth grazed her ear, the beginning hiss of words, but she didn’t wait for his twisted utterance, throwing her head back swiftly to connect with his nose.

A crunch, a groan, and his arms were off her. She stumbled forward at the loss of support before quickly turning around to face her attacker. She barely had time to make out his shape in the dark of the alley before he was surging forward again.

“Mikas— _arrgh, fuck!”_

She realized her mistake too late, her knee having connected with his groin and effectively buckling him.

“ _Captain_?” she hissed, eyes wide with horror.

Her sight was now more adjusted to the gloom of their surroundings, and she saw the dagger-grey gleam of his eyes as he glared at her through messy black fringe. The sound of running feet jolted her attention away from Levi’s pained gaze and to the opening of the alley where the second man raced past. Like his companion, he paid the alleyway no mind.

She waited until she couldn’t hear him anymore before muttering breathlessly, “are you ok?” She lowered herself to her knees so she could be level with Levi in his downed position. He scoffed bitterly, spitting blood off to the side.

“I think you broke my nose, brat,” he mumbled bitterly, sounding congested due to the injury. “And rendered me sterile.”

Defensiveness overrode the guilt flaring in her chest. Ignoring any sense of propriety, she grabbed his chin roughly with her thumb and index. “Well, sorry for defending myself because I thought you were trying to kidnap me.” She tilted his face slightly to inspect his nose. “And it’s not broken, you child.”

He wrenched his chin away from her fingers and hauled himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he stood. He halted abruptly with a hiss and pressed a palm against his crotch tenderly. He cursed under his breath, face turned down in pain.

“Fuck, Ackerman. I was trying to save your ass.” He rolled his shoulder then, shaking off the residual tremors of pain that bloomed from below his belt. “And you’re too fucking fast for me to get a word in. I thought you saw me back there.” He gestured vaguely to the shadowed back wall of the alley.

“How the hell did you find me?” she demanded, genuinely dumbfounded how he’d showed up _here_ of all places.

He turned his eyes heavenward and pinched the bridge of his nose, and she didn’t know if he was quelling the blood flow or his temper. “Actually, I was here first,” he finally answered, tone pettish. Seeing her baffled expression, he scoffed and added, “I was a goddamned street-rat, Ackerman. I know my fair share of dark corners.”

Mikasa looked away from him then as she rose to her feet, listening for shouting men or pounding feet but heard only crickets. The anger and adrenaline had subsided now, but the guilt remained...and something else. _Shame._ It wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt because of her.

“I…I’m sorry.” The words felt odd on her tongue.

He turned halfway as if contemplating something, but she couldn’t see his face well enough in this light to tell what it was. Then he sighed and his shoulders deflated. She felt her own exhaustion suddenly surround her. The day had been hard, but the fight and chase had zapped the last of their energy.

”Let’s move. We’re sitting ducks here.” Levi turned from her and made his way to the edge of the dark alleyway, pausing to look around the empty street before cautiously stepping out.

Mikasa followed without a word, keeping in silent step with him, stopping when he did. His nose had stopped bleeding, thankfully, but he still brushed at it occasionally. The mess probably bothered him more than the injury itself, she figured. Still, as much as she wanted to maintain her irritation with him for sneaking up on her, she couldn’t quell the guilt simmering in her gut.

She didn’t have any idea where he was leading her, but he seemed to know where he was going. He hugged the shadows of the old buildings like a cat, his strides purposeful and calculated. It truly was something to see him move in stealth like this, not that she’d ever voice that. Mikasa prided herself on her silent tread—it came more naturally than tracking—but Levi was in a league of his own. Or, rather, perhaps he was just in his element.

_I was a goddamned street-rat._

He’d sounded so unaffected when he’d said that—almost blasé. And, really, with his speech and his manner, it was entirely too easy to forget about his humble beginnings.

Another wave of guilt surged through Mikasa for even having those thoughts. Even to her own mind she sounded like one of those bigoted wall-wailers that preached on the gleaming streets of Mitras. It wasn’t like she’d expected someone from the Underground to be…barbaric…but…

But maybe Levi’s conflicting disposition spoke for itself. After all, she knew all too well what it was like to wear a mask. To feel the need to _compensate._

“The hell happened to you?”

Efran’s coarse baritone had her wheeling around to face the shadows, hand reaching for the knife at her belt that wasn’t there. He too had a silent tread.

Efran gestured at his own nose with a circular motion. Levi only glared at Mikasa. The tattooed man inhaled deeply like he was preparing for one of his large belly-laughs, but only threw his head back and chortled quietly. “Well, I certainly hope that isn’t all your blood, Levi.” He gestured to the reddish-brown stain covering the front of her clothes.

Levi looked at Mikasa then, his expression indiscernible as he took in the mess of her, and she tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. He finally turned away entirely, mumbling something like, “insufferable woman,” and “broke my damn nose.”

“It’s not broken,” Mikasa snapped, eyeing her captain as he prodded at his face gingerly.

Efran regarded the two with a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Well, glad you found us alright, lovely lass.” He gave Mikasa a warm smile. She suddenly felt confused by his choice of words.

Levi scoffed. “ _I_ found her,” he mumbled, sending a sideways glance to Mikasa. “Obviously.”

Oh.

Anger and embarrassment surged in her chest. So he _had_ found Efran already, and she’d just run around like a damn idiot being chased by a bunch of goons. And to top it all off, he’d _come back for her_ like she was some damsel and he was the gallant savior going out of his way to rescue her. The fucking midget _dared_ to give her that look.

She wanted to come back with some witty retort, but she was too overcome with rage to do anything other than stand there, fists at her sides, and turn a deep shade of crimson. Luckily, Efran had her back.

“You mean you let the lady run around this godforsaken city with a bunch of imbeciles tailing her?” She couldn’t tell if his tone was genuine or mocking, but he turned to her with a wink and added, “no offense, lovely lass, because I know you’re more than capable, and I greatly appreciate the diversion, but…” he trailed off and looked back at Levi, expression reproving. 

Levi clicked his tongue in annoyance and made another swipe at his nose, the blood now dried. He pushed past them without another word, disappearing around the side of a darkened establishment. Efran gave Mikasa a quick grin before following the short captain.

“Efran,” she called softly as she followed the two men. He didn’t turn to acknowledge her, but a large hand reached around and grasped her arm gently, pulling her in stride beside him.

“You didn’t miss much, lovely,” he whispered, his breath brushing the fringe against her temple as he kept his voice low. “I had a good start on the kid and managed to follow them here.”

They came up along the side of another quiet building where Levi waited, his back to them as he regarded something ahead. The buildings had become more nondescript in this part of the city, and some of them clearly were abandoned. Squalid as the central metropolis might be, this was something else. The outskirts of a slum.

Looking up, Mikasa realized the wall they hugged belonged not to an establishment, but the rocky mass of the Underground itself. This truly was the edge of town. The smell of peat was strong here, earthy, and warm, but a welcomed change from the acrid stench of the inner city. The surrounding buildings thinned out significantly at this edge point, and a wide clearing stretched before them, barren.

And in the distance, carved from the wall of the Underground itself, was a large cave.

Mikasa realized she had never really seen a cave before. Maybe a den in the forest or the burrow of a large animal, but _this_ was truly a cave—all jagged rock and gaping earth. It was like a giant Titan mouth, poised and waiting for its prey to wander right on in.

And there, just at what could have passed as the teeth, were Dennard and the man.

“He’s been here this whole time. I can’t tell what he’s working on.” Efran pointed at the man in the distance who crouched before some sort of bag. Dennard sat a few feet from him, and even from this distance Mikasa could tell her hands were bound. “I was observing them when your captain here showed up all heroic and the like.” He sent Levi another disapproving glare. “Then I found out you two’d split up and he’d left all the hard work to the lady.”

Levi made another sound of frustration. “You said yourself she’s plenty competent.”

“Indeed, but that’s no reason to not be a gentleman.”

“I went back, didn’t I?” Levi groused.

“It’s fine,” Mikasa cut in, eager to end the bickering and return to the task at hand. “He’s distracted like this. We should go now and get the girl,” she said with a jerk of her head toward the yawning cavern in the distance.

“That’s what we should do, is it, cadet?” Levi drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tone, not even bothering to look at her.

 _Oh, fuck you._ “ _Lieutenant,_ and yes, I do.”

Levi’s head turned so slowly, it would have been comical had it not been for the fearsome gleam in his eyes. His mouth tightened into a firm line, and she half expected him to smack her upside the head like she’d seen him do on countless occasions to insubordinate recruits.

“Look around, _lieutenant,”_ he muttered darkly, ”this area is shaped like a fucking crucible. We walk in there and we’ll be completely exposed.”

”There are _three_ of us and one of him!”

Efran held up a placating hand between them, dark brows furrowed into a stern crease. ”Mom, Dad, can we save the marital strife for later?” Both Ackermans turned their angry gazes to the tattooed man, but he held his ground. ”The lass has a point, Levi. I’ll grab the kid and get her out, you two take care of him.”

Efran was right—they were wasting time. Mikasa felt a pang of shame for the second time that day. She wouldn’t apologize, however; for whatever reason, her captain possessed all the means to push her buttons. And she his. Once more she was left questioning why Erwin had ever put them on this mission together in the first place.

Levi sighed heavily and looked back across the clearing, gray eyes flitting wildly in thought. Finally, almost begrudgingly, he nodded, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as if he were preparing for a fight.

”Alright. You get the kid. Mikasa, you’re with me.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Communication Breakdown

_“Mikasa…_

_…did you ever experience a moment in your life when it felt as though a power suddenly awoke inside you?”_

_“…yes, I did.”_

_“Kenny Ackerman told me he had a moment like that, too. One day, all at once, he felt a stupid amount of strength surge through his body, and he knew exactly what to do…_

_…I had a moment like that, too.”_

 

* * *

 

The girl was brave, he’d give her that. Scrawny thing, and probably way too small for her age, but she held herself better than most adults.

The glare she gave him was unnerving, too.

Rikard looked away from her fierce gaze and resumed setting the triggers. He’d been doing this sort of thing since he was fifteen, could probably do it in his sleep. That was just as well, too, for it allowed him to focus on a more pressing matter.

He’d had the suspicion someone was approaching, and the girl’s fleeting expression of surprise only confirmed it—for her part, though, she managed to school her features quickly.

Not quick enough.

He figured it would be best to continue like he was oblivious, keep setting the wires. Occasionally, the girl’s amber eyes would look toward the interloper, but mostly she kept them trained on him. He guessed the newcomer was about eight yards away now. His hearing had always been sharp—a rare thing for one who blew things up as frequently as he did. He listened again.

Ah, wait, _two_ interlopers? Well.

He sent another glance to the girl, and her gaze shot back to meet his. He’d caught her looking away. He feigned a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes for effect, before huddling back over the wires so she wouldn’t panic.

No, no, _three._

His guests were quiet, he had to admit. Very quiet; sometimes he had to pretend to inspect a wire just so he could listen for their footfalls. Definitely not Military Police, then. Those buffoons. He wondered if they were the ones who’d been sitting in the corner of the tavern. Probably not. Last he’d seen, Ulrich had been facing off with the dark-haired woman. She looked tough, but even that large, tattooed man in her party would have struggled to take on a giant like Ulrich. Most of those guys were just thick-headed lackeys, but they sure could hold their own in a fight.

Four yards, now.

The main rig was set now and the wires all in place. It all blended in pretty well with the rocks—the rugged landscape of the cavern provided plenty of nooks and crevices to cram with explosives. The trigger was located deeper inside the cave and a safe distance from the entrance. Everything was ready to go. He was just fidgeting now.

The newcomers had certainly thrown a wrench into the works—he’d wanted to be out of here by now. As much as he was a fan of watching his work light up, his mission wasn’t to set off the trigger—get the girl, get out, don’t get caught. Leave the fireworks for Cedric and his boys.

Well, they were late. Very late. And he had company to deal with or else the whole plan was gonna go to shit. Without looking up from the main rig, head down as if he were still assembling it, he slowly reached a hand inside his coat and felt the handle of his knife.

”That’s far enough,” he spoke, and the air stilled. He waited, sensing. The girl went rigid. ”You follow me here?”

There was a long pause before the answer came—a man’s voice, deep. Laconic, almost. ”Rikard, is it?”

Did he know this man? He fought the urge to turn around—better if they thought he was at a disadvantage. ”Turn around and walk away. You don’t wanna be here when the others arrive. This doesn’t concern you.”

”How about you give us the girl?”

Well, now, _that_ voice was distinctly feminine. Three people, one of them a woman. His gut sank. Maybe Ulrich wasn’t as formidable as he’d thought.

He did turn then, if only to see this champion. His suspicions proved correct as he took in the sight of the three from the tavern. The woman was absolutely _covered_ in blood, and he couldn’t help but gawk at the sight.

”Give us the fucking kid, Rikard,” the short man next to her spoke. He was the one who had been speaking before. The leader, probably.

”You really don’t wanna get involved here.” He meant his words; despite the company he kept and his penchant for explosives, unnecessary bloodshed wasn’t really his deal. The three before him were competent fighters, obviously. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give them a chance to turn back.

Because the others wouldn’t be so lenient.

”Oh, I don’t really think you’re in the position to be bargaining, boyo,” the tattooed man intoned in a rasping voice. Rikard could have laughed at his words; he was standing with his back to a shitload of explosives. If anything, he was in the prime position to bargain.

”I offered you a chance to go quietly. I suggest you do that. It’s not too late.” And it wasn’t, though he could hear movement from behind him coming from the shadows of the cave. It was faint, and he was confident these three couldn’t hear it, but he knew it was Cedric and the rest.

They were here. And they were waiting.

”Yeah, I remember that. You’re expecting company?” The short man sounded bored. “Wouldn’t be some of your cult friends, would it?”

 _That_ surprised him. “You know our name.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, I’ve heard a thing or two.” The short man exchanged an indiscernible glance with the woman. “You really need to rethink your choice of name though, because _The Redeemers_ is rather…unoriginal.”

He wanted to get a rise out of him—attempt to provoke him into attacking, perhaps. That would certainly make their job easier; Rikard was not a poor fighter, but his specialty lay with lighting things on fire. Only a fool would engage these three alone in combat.

Rikard wasn’t a fool. Or alone.

”Well, that just hurts my feelings,” he said, mimicking the dark-haired man’s indifferent speech.

He turned his back to them, eyes searching the black expanse of the cave until he found what he was looking for. A grizzled face, half hidden in shadow, watched him steadily. The three behind him were silent, but he knew his actions must have perplexed them. He didn’t have long before they’d figure it out, no doubt.

He nodded once at Cedric.

Freeing his blade from its sheath in one fluid motion, he spun on his heel and launched the weapon toward the woman.

She was _fast_ , contorting her body away from the oncoming missile and nearly colliding into the short man. Despite her speed, the knife still ripped across her thigh, and the woman yelped in agony.

With her outcry, the clearing came alive.

Rikard didn’t stop to watch the scene unfold. In two strides he reached the girl, hauling her once more over his shoulder. She thrashed and kicked against him, but she was just too small and weak to do any serious damage. Getting over the rocks with her flailing around on him proved a slight challenge, however.

“Be still,” he commanded, clamping her against him roughly. She didn’t listen.

“Mia!” she called out, and he felt her reaching against him. Ah, so she knew these people. In what capacity, he didn’t know, but they were obviously willing to risk their lives to get her back.

The image of her father flashed in his mind, and he felt a pang of regret. The Jones twins were fucking loose cannons, and he never should have agreed to bring them along. Hell, maybe a lot of this mess could have been avoided if Galen hadn’t fired off his gun like a damned fool. But then, his brother had still stabbed the innkeeper to shit. _What a mess._

“Quiet,” he growled to the girl and his whirring thoughts.  

She was just sobbing against his back now, having finally exhausted herself, and he managed to clear the rockiest area of the cavern with relative ease. Only here did Rikard turn and look back.

The scene was similar to what had gone down back at the tavern, and it really did look like one giant bar fight. Except, everyone had a knife and was trained to kill.

He was dismayed to see how many of his own had fallen, their uniform red tunics turning brown with their blood. Where did these three come from? Even the woman—Mia, apparently—fought like the weeping wound on her leg was nothing but a scratch.   

Cedric and another man—equally as tall, so probably Logan—were teaming up against the dark-haired man. He used his shorter height to his advantage, ducking and rolling under the strikes of the taller men. He was perhaps faster than the woman, and Rikard didn’t see the knife on the ground until the short man picked it up on another roll, following the movement through with the blade until it planted itself firmly in Logan’s neck. _Fuck._

“Levi! MPs!” the tattooed man bellowed, and Rikard watched in dismay as several soldiers emerged from the edge of the clearing. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

He turned then, not wasting another moment watching the battle unfold–as much as Cedric and his guys were struggling with this unprecedented threesome, the arrival of the MPs erased any chance they had for reclaiming the fight. Rikard needed to leave while he still had the chance.

“Rikard!” He halted at his name, whirling around. Cedric had his hands around the shorter man’s neck, straddling him into the ground. “Blow it up!”

 _What?_ No, no, that’s not…

Cedric seemed to understand his hesitation. “Do your duty and light the damned fuse!”

He was willing to sacrifice not just his life but the lives of his men. They all were—they _needed_ to be—but the fact still struck Rikard like a fist to the stomach. _Do your duty._

Without waiting for another command, Rikard spun around on his heel and beelined for the trigger. The girl, ever savvy, seemed to recover some of her vigor and began struggling again. He ignored her protests, her pleas, not stopping until he was right before the box.

He threw her onto the ground then, his shoulder screaming despite her diminutive weight. He wasn’t worried about her running, anyway—his thumb was over the trigger and soon the entrance would be closed. She looked up at him with wide, amber eyes, and he saw her final plea in them.

“Cover your ears, kid.”

She didn’t. Just shifted her gaze back to the cave entrance. He pressed the button.

 

* * *

 

Her leg wouldn’t stop bleeding. She didn’t have time to inspect how deep the cut was—these _Redeemers_ fought like the best of the Corps, and she was brought back to the times she had ever sparred with Annie Leonhart. She rarely won those fights.

The one benefit of having a knife thrown at her was that she now had a weapon. She took down her first opponent within a few moves and snatched herself a second knife from his hand, holding both weapons like she would the blades of her gear. The familiarity of the position made taking on the next wave of Redeemers easier.

“Levi! MPs!”

Never did Mikasa remember feeling such relief upon seeing the arrival of the Military Police. She didn’t bother to question how they’d found them, focusing instead on avoiding the striking jabs of the man she was currently fighting.

She was wearing out faster than usual due to her injury, and she barely avoided the uppercross of the man’s blade. He could tell she was tiring and thus began taunting her, smiling wickedly as he brandished the knife between nimble fingers.

A bang echoed across the clearing, and his blood sprayed across her face. He hit the dirt, dead.

She didn’t pause to see which MP had shot him, turning instead to find Efran and Levi in the fray. More Redeemers streamed from the corner of the cave’s opening, their crimson attire billowing like bloody flags as they ran to meet the police headon.

She spotted Levi first just as a Redeemer struck him hard in the jaw, sending him sprawling. Her feet were carrying her to the cave before she’d even thought to move. She ignored the screaming wound in her leg as she sprinted closer to her captain. The Redeemer was over him now, bloody hands wrapped around his neck.

“Do your duty and light the damned fuse!”

Her leg gave out then, just meters from them. She yelled in frustration and agony, clutching at her spasming thigh and wrenching herself once more to standing, only to collapse again into the rocky ground. Her vision swam.

_Fight! You must fight!_

Eren.

_You’ll die if you don’t._

She looked up then and made direct eye contact with Levi. His teeth were exposed, gritting in exertion as he tried to force the man off of him. He held her gaze, and she saw everything there—anger, fear...regret.

There was a familiar tightening sensation in the back of Mikasa’s head, almost like her mind was a rubber band being stretched. The tighter it got, the more focused her senses became. She could feel _everything_ : The boom of the MP rifles, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, men screaming and dying.

The hands around Levi’s throat.

The band stretched and stretched, and just when she felt she couldn’t take it anymore, it snapped like a whip inside her head. And just like that day all those years ago—Eren dying before her, the man lifting him into the air, the knife in her hand—Mikasa Ackerman _ignited._

All her awareness of the clamor around her focused in on one point directly ahead, and with a grunt she shot forward like one of Sasha’s arrows and buried her blade in between the man’s ribs.

He gasped, eyes finding hers in confusion as she lifted him to standing by the knife. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a bloody cough came out, misting her face in red. Mikasa watched unblinking as the life drained from his eyes.

It was only when his body fell slack against the knife did she realize she had lifted the man _completely_ off the ground _._ She tilted the knife and let his limp form slide off the blade.

“Mikasa,” Levi breathed, still on his back and gaping up at her.

All the energy left her body then, just as quickly as it had rushed to her. The pain in her thigh was back in full force, and for a moment she wondered if she really would blackout as she crumpled to her knees. She was aware of Levi’s calloused hand on her shoulder, jostling her roughly.

“Oi! Stay awake, Mikasa!” His voice sounded distant. “Efran, get her out of here.” He didn’t shout the command—Efran had come up beside them. Her vision swam again as the large man lifted her into his arms.

“Go now!” That was a shout. Desperate. She craned her neck and saw Levi’s retreating form as he sprinted deeper into the cave. What was he…

“Captain…” she rasped, and Efran muttered something to her that she couldn’t make out.

She caught sight of Dennard deep within the cave, her face dirty and streaked with tears. The man, Rikard, was standing beside her. Even in her delirious state she managed to put the scene together. She realized what her captain was going to do.

“N-no,” she gasped, reaching in vain. _He won’t make it!_

“Easy, lovely lass,” Efran’s voice rumbled in his chest, breath ragged as he ran with her in his arms. She tried fruitlessly to summon another wave of the energy she had felt before—the _power._ She lost sight of Levi as Efran carried her away from the cave, staggering through the battle.

“He’s gonna blow the cave!” someone yelled in a panicked voice, and several MPs abandoned the fight to run back for the shadows.

“Efran,” she gasped.

“I know, lass!” The anxiety was clear in his voice. He was running as fast as he could with her weight, clutching her to him roughly as he barreled toward the safety of the buildings. _Almost there._

She felt the heat of the explosion before she heard it, and the force of its blow felt like getting battered aside by the sweeping hand of a Titan. She screamed as she was wrenched away from Efran, his body replaced by dirt and heat and noise. For a moment, it felt like flying.

 

* * *

 

Armin listened to the shallow breaths of his friend as she slept, his blue gaze taking in the scrapes and bruises covering her arms and face. He’d helped Rubie wash most of the dirt and blood from her, but there still seemed to be several layers coating her skin. Her lips were chapped and broken, and her usually porcelain skin looked ashen.

Were it not for the gentle rise and fall of her ribcage, she would appear dead.

Armin took her small hand in his own, tracing his thumb across the back of her scuffed knuckles. Eren had been here a moment ago practically tearing his hair out. It took much cajoling from both him and Hanji, but eventually the Titan-shifter left to eat some dinner with Rubie.

As distraught as Armin felt about seeing Mikasa like this, he could only imagine what Eren was feeling. She was practically his sister, he’d said it himself. Then there was the astonishing news of Captain Levi’s death…

Armin shook his head, resting his forehead against Mikasa’s hand.

”Please, wake up,” he breathed, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he spoke any louder. ”We can’t lose you both.”

The man who’d brought her here—the tattooed man—had been sequestered in Erwin’s office all day, no doubt being debriefed by the commander. Armin had a million questions of his own, but he also felt bad for the man. Though not as bad as Mikasa, he was clearly injured and exhausted.

He seemed more concerned with Mikasa’s wellbeing than his own, however, and Armin respected the man’s stoicism. Armin had never been fully clear on all the details of Mikasa’s mission to begin with, nor how this Efran fit into it all, but he seemed to be more important than just some good samaritan who had rescued one of humanity’s strongest soldiers.

Pain clenched his heart once again as he thought of their dear heichou. The loss of Captain Levi was more than just a blow to everyone’s spirits, but to the _hope_ for humanity as well.

Mikasa’s fingers twitched against his cheek, wrenching him from his thoughts.

Armin shot out of his chair, calling her name gently, hand coming to touch her face. She was still out, but her brow was knitted, and she stirred like she was uncomfortable. Or having a nightmare.

”Mikasa? Can you hear me?”

Hanji entered the room at that moment, eyes going wide as she saw Armin standing over Mikasa. ”Is she waking up?” she breathed in excitement.

”I can’t tell, but she’s definitely stirring.” He wasn’t sure why they were whispering, but something about the medical ward, about the situation, made him want to keep his voice low. ”Mikasa?” he tried again, a little firmer this time.

”She may just be having a nightmare. That sort of thing is natural during trauma—”

Mikasa bolted upright with a gasp, causing both Hanji and Armin to leap back in surprise. She heaved in large gulps of air, her eyes wide with panic and _very_ much awake.

Armin stepped forward and took her shoulders with gentle hands, turning the frantic girl to him. ”Mikasa, hey, calm down. You’re safe.” He spoke in a soothing tone while Hanji tenderly swept the strands of dark hair away from Mikasa’s sweaty face.

”H-hey…” she began, eyes wild but unseeing of one thing in particular.

”Hey to you, too,” Armin chuckled, thinking she was just getting her bearings.

”H-Heichou…” she stuttered again, grasping a fistful of his shirt.

Armin’s heart sank. He met Hanji’s eyes and saw his own despair mirrored there. ”Mikasa…there was an explosion—”

”I saw him. _I saw him!”_ She clawed at Armin’s shirt in desperation.

”Mikasa,” Hanji began, and the girl whipped her head to the section commander. ”Captain Levi didn’t make it out of the Underground.” Gentle, but concise and direct to the point. That was always the best way to inform someone of a loss.

”No, I saw him just now!” Mikasa said again, shaking her head, frustration rising in her voice.

Armin closed his eyes, throat becoming tight again. He wished Eren was here. His friend would know what to do, how to talk about this. ”Listen, I know this is hard to hear; you’ve just had a traumatic experience—”

”No, Armin. I know. I _know,_ ok?” Mikasa tilted her face to his, and he was startled by the blatant lucidity in her gaze. ”Look, I'm not sure how to explain this to you guys, but _I saw him._ Not like at the cave but…” she trailed off with a frustrated huff, gesturing around at the room, at her bed.

Armin looked at Hanji again, and the woman nodded—something was happening here, something difficult to put into words. But after witnessing humans transform into Titans, they were the last people to say that something which didn’t make sense was therefore wrong.

Sensing Mikasa’s frustration, Hanji bent down and captured her gaze. ”It’s ok, Mikasa, we’re listening.”

The dark-haired girl held the commander’s gaze for a beat before sighing in relief. She looked down at her lap, seeming to gather her words. ”It wasn’t a dream. More like a vision. Like I was there,” she said, voice thick with emotion. That alone was enough for Armin to believe her. Mikasa rarely got emotional.

”What did you see?” he asked, heart hammering in his chest. Mikasa inhaled a shaky breath and lifted her watery gaze to his.

”Levi is alive.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the double-barrel update. I love hearing your thoughts, and don't hesitate to comment or DM me. Again, my tumblr is MoraLeeWright, so you can find me there, too. :)


	6. Black Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came along quicker than anticipated, so yay! The past few chapters have been pretty action-heavy, so this one takes a break from that—more dialogue, and maybe some answers to a few questions…

_The knife was buried to the hilt, the man’s blood coating his hands, gushing hot and sticky over his knuckles and down his forearms in dark rivulets._

_His pulse raced in his neck, veins no longer seeming to carry lifeblood but rather some foreign ichor of a burning kind—a molten substance that was thinner than air and quicker than light._

_And he had never felt more powerful._

_The man’s feet dangled above the ground uselessly, his body curved to an awkward side as Levi lifted his corpse into the air like he weighed nothing. He_ was _nothing._

_The light began to spill from his pores, burning through his flesh like magma, as if the vessel that was his body was simply too small to contain such power._

_And just like that, it was gone._

_Levi slid to the ground and slammed onto his knees, his legs no longer strong enough to keep him standing._

_He had nearly burst with that power, but with its absence he felt like a brittle shell waiting to crumble inward with the slightest breeze. It was all he could do to force air back into his lungs, the very action of breathing difficult._

_He became aware of someone watching him and dragged his weary gaze upward. Had he the energy, he would have clambered back in shock._

_Because staring back at Levi, appearing equally as shocked, was himself._

 

* * *

 

“You want me to wake him up?”

It was Rikard speaking, he could tell. He kept still and silent, eyes closed, trying to get a sense of where he was. He had been dreaming. His head fucking _hurt_.

“No, give it a second. Where’s the girl?” A woman’s voice. He didn’t recognize it.

“Cell down the hall.”

“She eat yet?”

“No, too stubborn. Tried to _bite_ me.”

The woman laughed an airy chuckle. “Spirited little thing, isn’t she?”

“She tried to _bite me._ Like a dog.”

“Oh, c’mon, Rikard. Grow up.”

Levi cracked his eyes open the slightest amount, lashes barely parting, but enough to let in the faint glow of firelight. He couldn’t tell where they were in relation to him—maybe behind, to the side. He was so _damn disoriented._

His head really hurt.

“Sure you don’t want me to wake him? He’s been sleepin’ like a princess for over an hour now.”

“In a second. I want to see who I’m dealing with.”

Well, wasn’t this just his shitty luck. Levi ignored his throbbing temples and strained to hear anything aside from the two speakers that could tell him where the hell he was. The space sounded dead, hardly any echo to their voices, so probably a small room.

“You need a bath,” the woman muttered.

“I’ll bathe after. Not leaving you alone here.”

“He’s chained up.”

Huh, so he was. At her words, he became aware of the metal encircling his left wrist. Shitty, shitty luck.

“Still not leaving. Deal with the smell.”

His senses were returning slowly, the weight of the cuff becoming more solid and the light more vivid. They were behind him. He had his back to them, lying on his side. He wondered if the gaps between their conversation were really that long or if he was just fading in and out of consciousness.

He attempted to carefully adjust his wrist against the unforgiving bite of the cuff’s cold constraint, but the movement sent a sharp, shooting pain up his arm. The groan escaped his throat before he could stifle it.

“Look, see? He’s waking up.”

 _Dammit, Levi._ Too late now.

There was shuffling behind him, someone rose from a chair, and he heard the dull tread of their boots. It was the woman—she spoke again. “Try not to move too quickly. You got caught up in the blast and it knocked you around pretty good.”

Oh, yes, he hurt. Moving his arm seemed to awaken all the other pains in his body. His memory didn’t revive as quickly, unfortunately.

“You were lucky, though,” she continued, voice closer now. “Can’t say the same for your friends.”

Images began to return to him. The MPs. The battle. The girl with her weeping, amber eyes; Rikard dragging her deeper into the shadowed recess of the cave. Efran, his wild face, fighting men left and right like some angered bear. Mikasa and the knife.

_Mikasa._

The memory of her face hit him like a slap, and his eyes shot open. He remembered _everything_ then—the foreign, almost animalistic rage on her face as she drove her blade into the man’s ribs and _lifted_ him into the air like he weighed...nothing.

He remembered being particularly absorbed by the sight of the man’s blood trickling over the hilt of the blade and running over Mikasa’s forearms. He knew it had been sticky and warm over her hands.

Because he had _felt_ it.

And then, whatever transfixion had held him motionless and captive to the scene had broken like glass somewhere in the back of his head. Mikasa had crumpled to the floor, her exhaustion his own.

_Not a dream._

Levi’s eyes opened wide, and he shot up to seated, ignoring his body’s screaming protest. His vision swam at the sudden movement, two figures blurring and doubling before him under the flickering lantern hanging on the wall.

He would have stood completely, had he not tangled his feet in the chain. He collapsed back down onto his ass with a thud, the fall jarring his vision back into focus. He met the surprised expressions of Rikard and the woman. The latter was the first to recover.

”You don’t like to listen, do you?” Her face was downturned, eyes up and regarding him steadily, the shadow of the lantern giving her smile a strangely wicked look. ”I’m sure that hurt.”

It did. And now he was pretty sure his left shoulder was dislocated.

”Levi, is it?”

He only glared.

”She asked you a question,” Rikard said, rising from his own chair to stand beside the woman. She waved a hand in dismissal.

”Rhetorical. I know who he is. Only humanity’s strongest, this one.” He couldn’t tell if her tone was mocking or not.

There wasn’t anything particularly striking about her features—she was rather plain, actually—though she did look rather young. Early twenties, maybe. Her face was indiscernible behind that balmy smile.

It struck him then just how similar she looked to the man sitting beside her. Red hair, which looked aflame under the lantern light, similar features, and he bet if she were closer he would see a pair of green eyes. Rikard probably had a decade on Levi, but that didn’t rule out the possibility of the young woman being his sister.

Her clothes were as nondescript as her face, but she wore a silken garment over her shoulders that resembled a very long scarf or stole. It was a deep red just like the tunics of the men in the clearing.

”You supposed to be a fucking priest or something?” His voice was dry and hoarse from disuse.

The woman blinked at him before throwing her head back and bellowing with laughter. She fingered the stole and grinned. ”I take it you aren’t a man of faith, Levi. Am I right?”

Rikard scoffed and sat back down in his chair, muttering something that Levi missed.

”You kidnap children. Am I right?” he bit, arm tensing against the chain.

”Ah, Dennard.” Her grin faded back to her placid smile. ”The girl is safe. Stubborn, won’t eat, but safe.”

”You killed her father.”

”A mistake.” The smile faltered. ”I miscalculated the mental state of two Redeemers in—”

Levi had his free hand around the woman’s throat before she could finish speaking. She held up a hand to stop Rikard as he drew the knife at his belt, placating, her eyes calm and steady as she held Levi’s gaze.

“What do you want?” Levi’s voice was a deep growl, teeth bared and inches from the woman’s unflinching face. His vision felt blurry on account of his head, but he refused to loosen his grip.

“ _Those who have been wronged shall be avenged, and those who are forsaken shall be redeemed,”_ she intoned, her voice taking on the careful timbre of someone reciting a hymn or prayer. Levi snarled and tightened his grip on her neck.

“Spare me your pithy catchphrase, priestess.”

She grinned. “It is the motto of The Redeemers, Levi. In time I hope it will come to mean something to you.”

Levi shoved the woman away with a scoff, yanking roughly against the chain that linked his arm to the wall. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the gloom, and he could make out the edges of a door on the far wall. Other than that and the two chairs, the small room was barren. No windows, no furniture. Just a chain drilled into the floor.

The woman’s gaze followed his own. “Not the most comfortable setup, I know.” She rolled her neck and shoulders gingerly. “But it’s not nice to strangle people, Levi.”

“You know my name, but I never got yours.” He gathered the chain in both hands, holding it across his lap as he leaned casually against the wall. In actuality, it was all he could do not to collapse back onto the ground in exhaustion—Every muscle in his body ached, and his shoulder was _definitely_ dislocated. He kept his face impassive.

”I have many names, especially amongst my people,” she replied, sitting once more in her chair. ”Though, I don’t expect you to call me _Red Mother,_ ” she added with a smirk.

”How about _Red Bitch?”_

Rikard did draw his knife then, rising from his chair again. ”Careful, bastard.”

”Rik, sit down.” The red woman didn’t look away from Levi as she spoke. Rikard hesitated for a moment, jaw tensing in aggravation, before sitting down in his own chair.

”You chain the girl up, too?” Levi monotoned.

”We only chain dogs.” Rikard sheathed his blade with a rough hand.

”To answer your earlier question,” the red woman began, ignoring Rikard, ”our mission is to take back the lives that have been stolen. To redeem those wronged by the tyrants in power.”

Levi was chained to the floor of a small room talking to a zealous cult-freak of a woman. Shitty ass luck. His eyes ached. He really wanted to sit down.

“So you’re the good guys?” he mocked. She ignored him.

“The rich fools of Mitras stuff their faces to excess, while children starve in the darkness right below their feet.” A glimmer of indignation shone in her eyes, the serene mask finally showing a crack. “The people above don’t know suffering, they don’t know true pain, or loss, or what it’s like to go hungry.”

She leaned forward then, elbows on knees—the position almost masculine and at variance with her regal countenance. The indignation had given way to something more raw, and she wore it openly.

“But you do, Levi. Because you might have served these past years as the government’s lackey, but deep down you’re still one of us.” She paused here, voice dropping to a murmur. “Yes, I know your name. In fact, I’d wager I know more about it than even you do.”

 _That_ got his attention. His mask must have slipped because she began to nod slowly, her smile growing.

“The Ackermans have a history of serving those in power. Another irony, if you think about it.” Her gazed unabashedly raked over Levi’s form as if she were appraising livestock at the market. There was nothing prurient in that look, but Levi still struggled not to squirm.

“Why is that?” he muttered.

“The Ackermans were arguably one of the most powerful clans, Levi,” she replied, like a schoolteacher giving a lecture. “Aside from their obvious enhanced abilities, they were also formidable fighters, and thus invaluable to the crown.”

 _Enhanced_ abilities? 

“The irony,” she continued, “is their place in the hierarchy. Why did such a people with all that power serve _underneath_ those who would seek nothing more than to exploit them and use them as weapons?”

The woman stood, the ends of her tippet brushing against her legs, and she slowly approached Levi. “There is power in you, Levi. You felt it, I know, but you don’t even know the half of it.” She reached out and grasped his chin, not roughly, but he still flinched. “And yet all your life you’ve lived underneath _them.”_ She lifted her eyes—yes, definitely green—upward, as if Mitras was directly above them. And maybe it was; he had no idea where they were.

“What is this?” Levi ground through his teeth, and he would have wrenched his chin away already had he not feared jostling his shoulder. “What do you want from me?” Despite the malice in his tone, he hated how weak the question sounded.

“More like what I want _for_ you, Levi Ackerman.” Her hand moved to his neck, her fingers resting there in a small mimicry of how he’d accosted her just moments before. “Oh, you fell right into our laps, didn’t you?” It was spoken barely above a whisper, and he wondered if she’d even meant to say it out loud.

She pulled away from Levi suddenly, stalking past her chair before turning again to regard him from this new distance. He felt, again, like a mule before a prospective buyer.

Rikard rose to his feet then, as if some unspoken command had been given. He crossed the room to the lantern, lifting it from its hook on the wall and carrying it with him as he moved to stand beside the red woman.

“He does look a bit like a dog, I suppose, Rikard,” she said to the man, nodding at Levi. He probably did look like a dog, all hunched against the darkened wall of the room like this.

“I’ll bring the mongrel a bone later,” Rikard added, turning for the door before adding, “hopefully he won’t try to bite me.” He pushed through the door, taking the lantern and its light with him, leaving the red woman and Levi alone in the darkness.

He heard the woman inhale slowly before she said, “dogs are loyal creatures. You may have lived like one for most of your life, Levi, but be patient.” The sound of the door creaking met his ear. “In time I will make you a king.”

The door shut soundly. He collapsed to the floor.

 

* * *

 

_“Heichou.”_

He’d fallen asleep. Or passed out. Either way, some amount of time had passed since the red woman had left him in the dark. There was a faint glow behind his eyelids.

 _“Heichou.”_ He was straddling the line between sleep and consciousness; the throbbing in his shoulder made him want to succumb again to the blackness, but the incessant whisper kept dragging him back to wakefulness. Then again, maybe it was just a voice in his head. A memory.

“Heichou. Levi, please wake up.”

It wasn’t her plea but the touch of her cool hand against his burning cheek that made him open his eyes. _Mikasa?_ At first he thought it a fever dream, but her fingers on his face felt so _real._

“Ackerman,” he rasped, voice shot.

“Here, drink this.” She picked up the small cup beside her and lifted it to him. He took it with his good hand and had to force himself to take slow, deliberate gulps so as not to choke. “They must have brought that and the soup while you were out.”

Indeed, there was soup. Though it wasn’t much, just a bowl with what looked like some kind of watery broth and a few carrots. Another lantern had been placed back on the wall, casting a pale, yellow glow about the room.

“How…” he tried, but was overcome with a coughing fit despite his care with the water. He tried again, voice less cracked but still raw. “What are you doing here?” Efran must have been caught. But that wasn’t possible, they were outside of the cave when it blew—

“I’m not.”

“Come again?”

Mikasa sighed, picking at the wrappings on her arm. She looked terrible, he realized, worse than he, probably. Her clothes were different from before, clean and almost identical to the gowns afforded to patients at…

At the medical ward at HQ.

Mikasa was watching him intently, studying his expression. “I mean…I’m not actually here…with you.”

Levi groaned and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. His head hurt _way_ too much for this mystical bullshit. “Ackerman, you’re gonna have to help me out here.”

“In the cave,” she murmured, and he opened his eyes again, like he already knew what she was going to say. “You felt something, didn’t you.”

Her gaze bore into his own, onyx eyes steady as she gauged his expression. She looked so different here from the crazed woman he had seen in the cave—gone was that wild rage, and in its place was her usual quiet mien. She looked younger in this light, too, the shadows highlighting the softness of youth that still clung to her face.

He finally nodded, finding he couldn’t meet her eyes anymore and instead settled for staring into his cup. “I’ve felt it before. It’s the same feeling we’ve talked about. The power.”

That was a while ago, but he knew she’d remember. That feeling of something _awakening_.

Mikasa adjusted herself, careful of her arm, so that she was seated beside him with her back to the wall. They sat like this for a few moments, neither one willing to speak. Or knowing what to say.

She was the one to break the silence eventually, her voice so quiet he would have missed it had she not been sitting right beside him. “It felt different this time. It was almost…stronger. I’d never felt that strong before, even during the first time it happened when I was a girl.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt that drained afterward, either,” he added, voice equally soft. She nodded fervently, and he felt encouraged to continue. “It was like…when you looked at me…suddenly I was in two places at once…”

This turned her head to him.

“I was flat on my back getting the fucking daylights choked out of me, and then I was…holding that knife.” He turned partway, unable to look at her completely—he still couldn’t fathom how she was here—his eyes boring into the tops of her knees. “I could _feel_ his blood running down my hands. I could…I saw…” A chuckle bubbled out of his throat unbidden, though it lacked mirth. He shook his head in disbelief.

“What did you see?” she breathed, pressing closer.

He did look at her then. “I saw myself. Lying on the ground and staring back.” Her eyes widened at his words. “But I could also see you, standing there with the knife.”

“Two places at once.”

He didn’t need to explain further, she already knew. He could see the warring emotions in her dark orbs—the confusion, the fear, the _awe._ No doubt she saw these in his eyes, too. Levi couldn’t ever remember being this close to her outside of sparring. He certainly had never noticed the small, faint birthmark on the corner of her left brow—

”Ow—fuck!” Mikasa’s shoulder had bumped into his own, sending a shockwave of pain through the dislocated joint.

”Heichou! What did I do?” She pushed away from the wall, nearly banging her own injured arm in her haste to get away from him. He attempted to lighten the situation by mumbling something about her trying to kill him in an alley and now again while he was chained up, but the distress on her face only deepened.

”I’m fine, brat,” he mumbled, wincing as he cradled his injured arm.

”You’re obviously not fine.” Irritation overtook her features, and he found he preferred that to the helpless look from moments ago. ”Is it dislocated?”

He winced again and nodded, closing his eyes against the pain. _Fuck,_ it was really twisted up, he could feel it, and this chain was only making it worse.

”Ok,” was all she said, the look of determination on her face reminding him very much of Erwin. Then she reached for his injured shoulder, and he nearly kicked the bowl of soup over in his haste to evade her. Like _hell_ he was letting this brat jostle his joints back into place. She’d probably end up making it worse.

”The fuck you think you’re doing, Ackerman?” It came out more as a growl than a question.

”Easy, we need to get your shirt off that shoulder so I can set it.”

”No.”

”What do you mean, _no?”_

”I mean, you’re not touching it. That’s an order.”

”Can you hear yourself? You sound like a child. You can’t go around with your shoulder out of its socket like that.”

”Well, no shit, but doesn’t mean I need you screwing around with it. I know how to set my own damn shoulder.”

Mikasa sat back on her heels with a huff, looking away from him at some point on the far wall. Her jaw was tense, but she didn’t speak.

Why did all their conversations end this way? One minute they were discussing what had happened in the cave, and the next she was trying to rip his arm off.

”Impossible woman.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It came out more as a mumble, but she still sent him a glare.

”And you’re an irritable little man chained in a dark little room with his arm hanging on by a thread.” She leaned forward onto her knees, using the position to loom over him and get in his face. ”So quit acting like a _pussy_ and take this like a soldier.”

He was quite sure he heard the sound of his jaw unhinging. He recovered quickly, thankfully, glare in place. ”Ackerman, I will—”

”You will what? Make me run laps around your dark little room? Fine. I’ll do fifty. After I’ve set your shoulder.”

She wasn’t going to quit. Mikasa had always been one to push back when it came to him, _always._ But she was smart, and her unwavering sense of justice and fairness extended past even Jaeger—her sense of duty ultimately made her swallow her pride, do her job, and follow orders.

And yet this was the most egregious display of insubordination he had seen from her yet, and he wondered what gave her the _gall._ Was it the events that had happened between them? Did she think because of this he was no longer her superior and they now stood on equal footing?

But, his shoulder really hurt.

Without voicing his acquiescence, Levi began to unbutton the front of his shirt with one hand, looking away from her but refusing to drop his chin.

When the buttons refused to cooperate with him, Mikasa swatted his hand away with her own, deftly undoing the remaining buttons. The chain was a hinderance, but she made due by removing his shirt as much as she could and letting the fabric fall about his cuffed wrist.

”You sure you know what you’re doing, brat?” He fought to keep his voice level. He was no stranger to pain—he’d broken his fair share of bones—but the thought of someone who wasn’t a trained medic improperly setting his shoulder made him queasy.

Mikasa merely arched a brow at him in response. “Sit up on your knees, we need to get you as straight as possible for this to work. There, yes, just like that.” She guided him gently by the tips of her fingers until he was sitting, back straight as possible, on his knees. He caught sight of a splint wrapped with her arm.

“Oi, how fucked up is that arm?” He’d seen the wrap on her arm, but she’d been so stoic that he didn’t think it was broken until he saw the splint.

“Hanji said it was a minor fracture. Sit up straight.” A look of alarm must have flashed across his face, because she gave him another eyebrow arch. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to interfere with my ability to set this properly.” She was getting defensive.

“I was only wondering if it hurts.” He softened his tone, hoping she would see that his concern had been more for her. At this point, he didn’t care if she knew what she was doing, he just wanted to use his arm again.

“Oh,” she muttered, her fingers fluttering above his deltoids. “It feels better now that it’s wrapped. She gave me something for the pain, too.”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she regarded his arm, eyes traveling down to the cuff about his wrist.

“Bastards just had to chain this arm. No matter, we’ll make it work. Just keep close to the wall for some slack.” She dragged some of the chain closer with her knee. “Alright, your elbow should be flexed, humorous flush to your side, like so.”

Levi tensed against the pain which radiated down his arm. With his shirt off, he could see the protruding bump on the back of his shoulder, and the sight made him grit his teeth.

Mikasa continued to narrate her work, which had a rather calming effect. He suspected that was why she did it, for she didn’t exactly sound unsure of herself. He wondered how many times she had done this.

“Ok, this is going to be the most uncomfortable part, but it won’t last long,” she murmured, pinching the top of his trapezius between her fingers in a firm grip. Then, holding some of the chain along with the cuff around his wrist, she slowly rotated his forearm outwards.

She hadn’t lied when she’d told him this would hurt. It did, the pain only building the more she turned his arm.

“Easy, now.” Mikasa’s voice was calm and gentle through the haze of pain. He bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a groan. Just when he thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse—and he was _this_ close to barking at her for messing around—there was a dull _pop_ and the pain almost entirely evaporated.

The relief was immense, and even without moving his arm he could tell he’d regained mobility in the limb. He dropped his head forward with a huff, basking in the liberation from pain.

Mikasa’s hand was warm and strong as she massaged the tense muscles of his shoulder. The feeling of her fingers gripping and pressing into his flesh was utterly blissful, and he could already feel the tightness loosening as she worked.

“Better?” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck.

Levi stilled.

In his daze, he hadn’t realized that his forehead was currently resting on her shoulder. She didn’t seem to mind, just continued to work the knots out of his shoulder, but the position was entirely too…intimate. When was the last time he’d embraced someone?

“Hanji teach you how to reduce a dislocation or something?” Levi muttered, pulling away from her with more force than necessary. Mikasa’s eyes widened, as if she’d only just then realized how close they’d been to each other.

“Uh…no, my adoptive father did.” She was flustered. He’d made it awkward. “I witnessed Mr. Jaeger set more than a few dislocated shoulders,” she added, scrambling to her feet, and the soup bowl once again narrowly missed a kick.

Levi flexed his shoulders, rolling the left one gingerly and relishing in its restored mobility. “Thanks,” he said absently as he rubbed the chaffed flesh of his cuffed wrist.

Mikasa paused in her fidgeting, looking genuinely taken aback by his utterance. “Of course, Heichou. I wish I had something to give you for the pain.”

Levi shook his head and leaned back against the wall, shirt still crumpled about the chain. “Stop fretting, brat.” He closed his eyes with a sigh, the coldness of the wall feeling nice against his bruised form. “I can accept the fact that we had…some sort of shared experience in the cave, but that still doesn’t really explain your presence here.”

She didn’t respond, and he figured she was just listening.

“I mean one minute you’re at the med ward in HQ and then you, what, just woke up here?” It didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t some apparition—she’d just popped his shoulder back into place, for fuck’s sake, so she was definitely _real._

Mikasa remained silent. Was she thinking? “Oi, you got any thoughts on this?” No answer. He opened his eyes, ready to engage in another quarrel with the brat. “Ackerman…”

The name died on his tongue. She had vanished.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, most of this was written over the course of several 3am insomnia sessions, so I can’t account for its clarity. Rivamika quarrels are fun though, hope they didn’t sound too off-book. At the very least, I now know how to set a dislocated shoulder?
> 
> As always, I appreciate your thoughts! Let me know what you think...


	7. Out On The Tiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you all for the amazing comments, messages, and overall love you’ve given me and this fic–-whether if it's here, FF.net or on Tumblr. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the support and feedback!
> 
> Apologies for keeping you waiting, especially after a cliffhanger chapter. Hopefully some questions will be answered here.

“Who knows about this?”

Hanji swallowed deeply, squaring her shoulders against the peridot gaze of Erwin Smith. “You, me, and Arlert.” She held up a finger, remembering. “And the courier, Efran.”

The commander nodded, thick brows drawn together as he mulled over something in his mind. “It needs to stay that way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me about your theory.” He gestured to the vacant chair before his desk. She took it.

“I believe that Mikasa and the captain managed to form some sort of...mental connection. They’ve both talked about feeling an inexplicable surge of power at some point in their lives, something that was triggered under extreme circumstances and unlike anything they’d felt before.”  
  
Erwin arched a full brow. Then he nodded. “Yes, I remember. The way they described it, that strength, it always reminded me of how Eren would describe feeling in Titan form. Especially during the transformation. You think this power is somehow…”  
  
He trailed off, the question there, and Hanji was already grinning. “Yes, I believe it’s connecting them. Here’s another theory: the initial power surge they felt was just an awakening of sorts. An on switch, if you will. It’s no mystery why they are humanity’s strongest soldiers.”  
  
The commander’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It was gone as soon as it came, and when he spoke his voice was low, contemplative. “To continue with your theory, if the initial rush of power was like an on switch, then what Mikasa described in the cave was a bridge. A passage forged between them.”  
  
Oh, she _loved_ metaphors. She gripped the arms of her chair, desperately wanting to pace the room as she processed the information. “I wish we had more time to study the phenomenon, study how it’s possible for Mikasa to essentially transport herself to where the captain is, and find out if it would work the other way around.” She leaned back into the chair, sighing heavily. “But I suppose we need to put science aside for the moment and just accept what we know, because right now it’s our only tether to Levi. Our only hope of rescuing him.”

Erwin flicked his gaze back to her, a pointed look—it was easier said than done, and no doubt he was feeling that same panic she felt in her own gut. “That is assuming they can bridge that connection a second time. It’s already been _three days._ ”  
  
“I _know_ ,” Hanji replied, unable to keep the irritation from her tone. “I’ll be giving her a sleeping draught later. My thought was that the connection could be made when she’s unconscious. Triggered, somehow. That’s what happened the first time when Efran brought her to HQ, so it’s worth exploring.”  
  
“What if it doesn’t work? You said yourself that this is our only connection to Levi. What if we’ve lost that connection?”

Of course, she had already asked herself these questions. Multiple times. They kept her up at night. “Then we’ll try something else, and we’ll keep trying until it works.”

A sigh, and then Erwin Smith stood. She followed suit, knowing that was the signal for meeting adjourned. He walked her to the door, but paused before opening it. “I want this to stay between those who know.”

“I heard. And it will.”

He nodded but didn’t open the door, another thought on his tongue. Hanji waited, observing the tension in his brows, his shoulders. “One other thing.”

“Sir?”

“Jaeger doesn’t need to know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Armin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, by now completely past attempting to hide his irritation. “Which part is confusing, Eren?”  
  
“Well, why should I wait to tell her? Look, I’m not saying we wake her up right now, but I have to talk to her eventually.”  
  
Armin looked away from the Titan-shifter and down at the sleeping form of their friend. Mikasa had been through so much the past few days, and he was loathe to do anything to add to her burden. She already had enough to deal with as it were with Hanji’s...experiments. “I just think the news can wait. She’s under a lot of pressure right now.”

Eren shook his head. “Things have changed with Mikasa. She knows about my relationship with Rubie. We had that big, long talk about things, remember? And she practically gave me her blessing.” He placed his tanned hand over Mikasa’s small, pale one. “I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. I just feel she deserves to be one of the first to know.”  
  
Armin studied the man beside him, his childhood friend, and a pain flared in his chest. It felt like guilt, tasted like regret.  
  
“Just…give it a little bit,” he muttered, and then added before Eren could get upset, “I want you to tell her, too. I’m…happy for you.”  
  
And he was, but he had to work to keep that bitter pain from seeping into his voice. Eren seemed convinced, and turned to flash him one of those crooked smiles. Not for the first time Armin considered how painful this must have been for Mikasa to walk away from.  
  
“Alright, Armin. I trust your judgment more than anyone’s.”  
  
The compliment shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did—this pain in his chest was a common occurrence these days. Armin placed a tentative hand upon his friend’s shoulder, feeling the feverish heat of the man’s skin through his thin shirt. Eren sighed and leaned into the touch, seeming to relax now that he had contact with two of his most important people.

“When does Rubie return?” The question hurt to ask, but he was desperate to alleviate the depressing mood that had clouded above them. It worked, as Eren visibly perked up, smiling softly.  
  
“In a few days. Maybe things will be better then. I suppose I can wait until she gets back to tell Mikasa.”  
  
Armin found he preferred the mounting anxiety from a moment ago to this bitter coiling in his belly. “Yeah, that sounds good.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m probably keeping you,” Eren said, misinterpreting his friend’s despondent tone. He gently released Mikasa’s hand and stood from his chair before nodding at the small pile of papers and a notebook resting next to her feet. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”     
  
He would have corrected the misunderstanding, insisted his friend stay, but the coil wound tighter and he merely nodded. “Thanks, Eren. I’ll let you know when she wakes.”  
  
Eren rubbed the back of his neck, observing Mikasa’s sleeping form one more time before making to leave. “Oh,” he added, stopping abruptly. “When she does wake up, don’t forget to give her that.” He gestured at the length of red hanging off the back of the chair he’d just vacated. Armin nodded, and Eren offered him a strained smile. Then he left. The feeling of dread didn’t go with him.

Armin plucked at a loose thread in the bedding, worrying his upper lip between his teeth. Things had changed between them, become more tense. At first he thought it was a distancing of sorts and attributed it to Eren’s new relationship. But even then it was hard to shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between them.

Lying certainly didn’t help. But for all Eren’s hot-headed tendencies, he was no dimwit, and keeping him in the dark had taken a _very_ well planned story. Still, it just felt so fundamentally wrong lying to his best friend. The reason behind Erwin’s decision was convoluted, but Armin had the suspicion it had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof.

 _Hot-headed_.

A pained smile crossed Armin’s mouth. He looked up at the scarf draped across the chair, and the guilt clamped down on his heart once more. He just wanted one thing to go right. Just one thing. Just one day where someone didn’t die, or the answers weren’t so damn elusive, or that Eren—  
  
“When’s the wedding?”  
  
Armin nearly toppled from his chair. “Mikasa!” He stood abruptly, looking down at her smirking face in surprise. How long had she been awake? He stammered for a moment, grappling for the right words, some excuse he could cobble together. She only gave him that look; he had never been particularly good at lying, especially to her. “How much did you hear?”  
  
She rubbed at her eyes with careful fingers, avoiding the scuffs and bruises still mottling her pale face, before sitting upright in the narrow bed. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—sit down Armin—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I woke up right in the middle of it. I didn’t want to make it uncomfortable, so I played dead.” She appeared contrite, giving him a meek smile.  
  
“So you’re not...upset about this?”  
  
The smile faded from her face and she averted her gaze. There was still some pain there. “Upset, no. Eren’s right, we made our peace a while ago. I guess it’s a little bittersweet, if you know what I mean.”  
  
The coiling again. “Yeah, I do.”  
  
She held his gaze, onyx gaze warm and oh so observant, and his breath faltered as he wondered just how much was written on his face. He found himself racking his brain for another excuse, another reason.  
  
“I’m sorry, Armin,” she breathed, eyes filling with emotion.  
  
Oh Maria, she knew? Could she see right through him?  
  
“Mikasa, I—”  
  
“I thought for sure your theory would work. It seemed so sound.” She closed her eyes, dismay etching itself onto her features. “I didn’t see Heichou.”  
  
The simultaneous relief and disappointment he felt was an odd sensation, and a strange, breathy chuckle escaped his chewed lips. Mikasa, eyes still closed, mistook the sound for one of exasperation.  
  
“I’m utterly useless. It’s like I just took a nap. I’m so sorr—”  
  
“Hey, hey, Mikasa.” He rose from his chair once more and took her shoulders. “Look at me, it’s ok. Nothing about this is your fault.” He reached across the bed and pulled the scarf from Eren’s chair. “Eren brought this for you. Although, you probably already knew that.”  
  
Mikasa smiled and held the fabric to her chest, fingers fondling the material. “It’s been forever since I’ve worn this.”  
  
Armin didn’t need to ask why. He too had given up tokens of the past.  
  
“How is Efran?” she inquired suddenly, jarring him from his darkening thoughts.  
  
Armin hadn’t seen much of the large man except for when he made visits to check in on Mikasa. It was obvious that the two had formed a friendship while in the Underground—Mikasa hated being cooped up during her recovery, but the burly man always seemed to come prepared with the right word to brighten her mood. That alone eased any wariness Armin had about the tattooed man. “He seems well. Came to see you about an hour ago when you really were asleep.”  
  
Mikasa chuckled and nodded, once again looking mildly contrite. “He’s a good man, Efran.”  
  
“He seems honorable.” Armin grimaced despite himself, “and maybe a little…”  
  
“Intimidating?”  
  
“A lot intimidating.” Mikasa laughed louder this time, and Armin found he had missed the sound. “I can’t imagine what it would have been like to see all three of you together. Those Redeemers must have a death wish.”  
  
Mikasa’s smile slowly faded and a furrow of worry creased itself into her brow. She looked at Armin and he could see his own fears mirrored back at him. He squeezed her hand in reassurance. _We’ll get him back._  
  
“There’s something else I should tell you, Mikasa. Something I know you didn’t hear.” Something she probably wouldn’t   like to hear.  
  
She must have heard the hesitation in his voice because her face immediately slipped behind an inscrutable mask—the one he’d seen her don a multitude of times. Her battle armor.  
  
At that moment Armin wished he had some armor of his own. “We’re having a funeral for Heichou.”  
  
She actually laughed, a choking burst of sound, and she regarded him like he’d just told the world’s worst joke. When she saw he was serious her smile evaporated. “What do you mean a funeral? Why would there be a funeral? He’s not dead.”  
  
Seeing the lethal flare in her eyes made him realize why Hanji had been hesitant to deliver this news herself: Mikasa was terrifying. Nothing he didn’t already know, of course. She possessed a kind of silent anger, like a gathering storm, almost more intense than if she had shouted and raged.  
  
Armin held his ground. “No, no, I know that. When Erwin first told me I had a similar reaction, but if you think about his reasoning he has a point.” She was relaxing at this point, but her gaze didn’t lose its edge.

“And that would be?”  
  
“The only reason we know about Captain Levi’s survival is through you and this connection you two have.” He could see the understanding dawn on her bruised face. “The Redeemers have eyes within the walls, that much we know. Captain Levi was...is labeled humanity’s strongest soldier, therefore it would make sense that we would honor him and mourn his loss. If we don’t, what does that say?”  
  
Mikasa was already nodding, but he pressed on.  
  
“We need to proceed as if we still think he died. As it is, only a few of us know about his survival and your mental connection with him.” He paused then, the ramifications of Erwin’s plan finally sinking heavy onto his shoulders. “Actually, the hardest part is going to be keeping this from all the others.”  
  
Mikasa considered his statement for a moment, fingers twisting the scarf in her lap. “Do you mean...Jean, Sasha...everyone thinks Heichou is…” Her words trailed off into a breathy whisper.  
  
“The only people who know besides you and me are Efran, Hanji, and Commander Smith.” He didn’t need to elaborate, didn’t need to tell her it must stay that way.  
  
“I don’t like lying to our friends. Especially about this. They’ll think we didn’t trust them, and that we just watched them grieve and suffer when we could have told them the truth.” She wasn’t pushing back anymore, just voicing the pain they were both feeling.

Armin dug his nails into his palm, speaking the remainder of Erwin’s edict in a rush. “Eren can’t know.”

If she was fearsome before, this was something else. She held his gaze for a few beats, and it was like she was stripping away every fabric and facade with her eyes alone, searching for the true meaning, the trick. “About?” she enunciated, voice low.

“Any of it.”

“Why.”

Armin dragged a hand down his face. _I don’t know_ wouldn’t suffice. But he didn’t have a clear answer. “Look, I don’t know every one of the commander’s reasons, but I do know that this thing between you and the captain, this... _connection..._ it could incite a similar reaction in people to Eren’s Titan ability. For the time being, Erwin wants to keep this between as few people as possible. Just until we have more information.”

A look of exasperation crossed Mikasa’s face, her eyes going to the ceiling. “And, what, you think Eren can’t keep a fucking secret? He’s not a child.”

Armin held up his own hand, fighting to keep his own frustration at bay. “I never said that.” He took a breath. “Eren’t important. Not to put too fine a point on it, but he’s indispensable. Think about it. Keeping him in the dark might just be his best bet should all this go to hell. Granted, I don’t know what that would look like, but obviously Erwin has a reason for this, and I strongly think she should trust him.”

The look of unrest on Mikasa’s face, the _disbelief_ in her eyes, made that guilt twist ever tighter in his chest. He could see how much she wanted to push back, but she kept her argument to herself. “I don’t like this,” was all she said.

“You think I do?” He shut his eyes, regretting the harshness of his tone. When he opened them again, she was watching him with a doleful expression. “Sometimes the truth can get you killed,” he murmured.

Mikasa covered her face with her hands and breathed against her palms, letting out an agitated sigh that whistled through her fingers. “I can almost see the connection,” she mumbled absently, hands still on her face. “I can feel it buzzing in the back of my head, but the harder I try to reach for it the farther it slips away.”  
  
Armin perked up. This was new. He was reminded of Hanji’s metaphor with the bridge, one which helped him to visualize what Mikasa must be experiencing—but the buzzing? Armin rose from his chair, reaching for the notebook resting at the foot of the bed. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mikasa. You’ve been through so much. I feel terrible putting you through all these tests when really you should be resting.”  
  
His pencil had fallen between the mattress and the footboard, and he didn’t even bother trying to fish it out, opting to get another one from Hanji’s desk.

“Don’t feel bad, Armin. I want to help in any way I can. I’m just frustrated that I can’t make things work,” she said. His back was to her, but he could tell by the clarity of her voice that she’d removed her hands from her face.  
  
“I’m just looking for a pencil. I want to write down what you just described—the buzzing sensation in your head.” He tucked his notebook under his arm so he could rifle through the desk drawers with both hands.  
  
No pencil. Armin huffed in aggravation and began to dig through Hanji’s explosion of papers—the woman seriously needed to organize her workstation—searching for some kind of writing implement.  
  
“Does the buzzing hurt? Is it like a headache? Aha!” Finally, a pencil—which had been sharpened down to about the length of his thumb—revealed itself from under a sketch of Sawney and Bean. “I’ll just record all your symptoms for later reference. They might be useful in better understanding—oh sweet Maria!”  
  
Armin nearly dropped his notes and newly found pencil when he turned back to face Mikasa. She was still sitting up in the bed, her back ramrod straight, hands tangled in the scarf. But her eyes were what disturbed him.  
  
Gone were her irises, her pupils, her gaze just two, glassy-white orbs staring at some indiscernible point.  
  
“M-Mikasa?” Armin squeaked, etching closer to the bed. She didn’t move, didn’t seem to respond to his prompting. She was still breathing, her stomach moving in calm waves. Aside from her upright position and her milky gaze, it was almost like she was asleep.  
  
Armin took one last look at his despondent friend before opening his notebook, weak excuse for a pencil poised and ready to write. And Armin did what he did best—he studied.

 

* * *

  
  
Levi had his back to her. His bare back. It was dark, almost too dark, but she could see the muscles of his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine, could see the dirt and grime covering his flesh. Mikasa couldn’t remember the captain ever being so filthy.  
  
They were in a different location from the last time she’d seen him. Gone was the chain on the wall, the lantern. This space appeared more like a small cell—a dugout in the earthen wall of the Underground with a crude grate across the front to act as a door. It was small, and despite Levi’s compact stature she doubted even he’d be able to lie down completely in the cramped space.  
  
He visibly tensed, though she hadn’t made a sound—hadn’t even breathed—and turned to look at her, his face partially hidden in the gloom. “About fucking time you showed up.”  
  
His eyes flickered down her person, and she realized she still clutched the scarf to her chest. “It worked,” she breathed, reaching out to touch his shoulder, the one she’d set. It was difficult to tell in this light, but she thought she could make out the outline of a nasty bruise.  
  
“What worked?” He grasped her wrist before her fingers met his skin, making her startle. His sight was apparently more adjusted to the gloom than hers. “Mikasa, do you know what the hell is going on? One minute you were right in front of me and then you just disappeared into thin air and I don’t see you for three fucking days. ”  
  
Mikasa jerked her hand away, annoyed by his tone. It wasn’t her fault. “And I’m sorry about that. I’m just as confused as you. Hanji and Armin have put their heads together, but figuring out this connection we have and how to initiate it has proven to be rather difficult.”  
  
Levi exhaled deeply and leaned his forehead against the grate, eyes closing as he relaxed into the cold metal. Even with his back to her she could see how exhausted he was. Some of his injuries had begun to heal a little, but she could have sworn there were fresh ones.  
  
“Why are you…” She didn’t know which question to ask first—in truth, he looked terrible.  
  
“Shirtless?” he drawled, and Mikasa felt her face heat up involuntarily. It wasn’t like she’d never seen him without his shirt before, and she certainly was no blushing virgin...  
  
She pushed that convoluted train of thought aside, settling for another acerbic reply. “No, why are you so...unclean?”  
  
He quite visibly flinched, but didn’t reply. Not that she’d expected him to be living a life of luxury, given the circumstances, but it was obvious that he was freshly dirtied and she found that odd. His pants were dusty, darkened in places by what she could only assume was blood, and his hair was lank and messy. He smelled like dirt and sweat and gore. Had he been fighting?  
  
Mikasa felt a rage flare up in her chest, not just for him but for the conditions he was kept in; as much as Mikasa hated being filthy, she could only imagine how her fastidious captain was feeling.  
  
“We got cut off before we could really talk last time.” His voice was softer, the edge dulled. “I’m assuming Efran made it out in one piece?” Despite his phrasing, Mikasa knew better than to assume he thought so little of the tattooed man.  
  
“Efran is well. He saved my life.” She proceeded to tell him about the events that had occured after their last meeting when she’d set his shoulder. He kept his head pressed to the grate, unresponsive, but she could tell he was listening intently. His shoulders had relaxed, but his knuckles were pale as he gripped the metal bars, and she realized then just how uncomfortable he was.  
  
He looked like he wanted to claw out of his own skin. So she kept talking, refraining from placing her hand on his shoulder again and inspecting the injury, knowing the last thing he probably wanted was another layer of something covering him.  
  
“There haven’t been anymore missing kids, thankfully. Although, the main focus has been on getting you back. I don’t know why the connection between us was lost that night, and I have absolutely no idea why I am able to connect with you again now. Hanji’s tried everything from meditation to sleep drugs to making me stand on my head, but nothing seemed to work.”  
  
Levi emitted a puff of air which sounded a bit like a laugh. She grimaced, remembering Hanji’s idea of hanging off the side of her bed until she nearly passed out—the crazed excitement in the scientist’s eyes as she developed new ways to potentially trigger the “bonding,” as she’d called it, only added to Mikasa’s anxiety.  
  
“Armin described what happened to us in the cave as a kind of bridging between our minds. He doesn’t know why it happened, but it seems to be related to the surge of power we’d both experienced at one point in our lives.” She glanced around the small enclosure, at the earth floor—it really was like a pen for an animal—finally giving up and sitting down in the dirt with her back against the grate.  
  
“She can’t know about this,” Levi muttered suddenly, mostly to himself. Before Mikasa could question what he meant, he was crouching down to her level. His features were vague in the dark, though his face was close to hers. “Listen to me. There’s this woman, they call her Red Mother, she’s the one running this whole shitshow.”  
  
“The Redeemers? She’s their leader?”  
  
Levi nodded once, gray eyes catching in the dim light. “Yes, she’s fucking insane. Got this whole salvific-vengeance agenda she’s pushing, and her followers just eat it up. Believes she’s some sort of vigilante, righting the wrongs committed against the little people and all that shit.” She could make out the movement of his hand as he gestured through the air. “My point is that despite all her voodoo, she knows something about us, about the Ackerman bloodline. She kept referring to our enhanced abilities, saying that the Ackermans used to be one of the most powerful clans, invaluable to the crown.”  
  
Mikasa had to cut in then. “How does she know all this?” Levi barely let her finish, the information bursting out of him almost faster than he could speak. She’d never heard him so animated before.  
  
“I planned on telling you this the first night you appeared because I knew it was valuable, but now I can see it’s critical. Especially if you evaporate again, you need to hear it.” He stood then. “It all makes sense. Or, at least it’s starting to.”  
  
Levi peered through the metal bars, surveying the area outside the cell before returning his attention to her, voice even lower than before.  
  
“You asked why I’m so filthy.” He spread his arms akimbo, as if presenting himself to her, his form much more visible now that her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the shadows. “Every night they drag me out of this shitty cell and throw me into a ring. It’s like some fucked up cock fight, betting and everything.” He angled his face in such a way that the pale light hit his features as he cast another glance outside. Mikasa couldn’t help but gasp as she saw the purple and black marking his left eye.  
  
He turned at her outburst and she could also see the dried blood on his nose. Mikasa’s stomach dropped and she clambered to her feet, unable to keep the mortification from her voice. “Oh, Levi…” Once she’d seen the injuries they were impossible not to notice, and it startled her how she’d ever missed them.  
  
He looked away from her again, clearly uncomfortable by her display of emotion. “Settle down, it’s not that bad.”  
  
“Not that bad?” she all but shrieked, ignoring any compunction she felt for his comfort and getting right in his face. “So, what, they’re making you fight?”  
  
He angled his head against the light again and flashed her a hawkish grin devoid of humor. The almost malicious expression coupled with his battered face made him look oddly attractive. “That red woman fancies me her champion of sorts. Wants to see how many of her guys I can knock down in the span of thirty minutes.”  
  
Levi looked at his hands then, rough and bloodied, turning them over to inspect the knuckles. “My point is she views me as a weapon.” His eyes flicked back to hers, gaze filtering through his mess of dark fringe. “She knows something about the Ackerman bloodline—the clan, she called it—and I think she wants to use this...this power we have.”  
  
Mikasa clutched her scarf tighter, the flicker of an old comfort stirring in her chest. “If she found out there was another Ackerman…” She didn’t need to finish the sentence, the implication clear; whatever this Red Woman had planned, she would be that much harder to stop with two of humanity’s strongest soldiers in her possession. “There will be a funeral for you.”  
  
No preamble, just direct to the point. For his part, Levi remained unphased, merely nodding.  
  
“Makes sense,” he muttered, and then, “how many people know?”  
  
“That you aren’t dead? Besides Hanji and Armin, there's Erwin, of course, and Efran.” Mikasa had begun fingering the scarf again, twisting it over her fingers but still not wrapping it around her neck. “Eren doesn’t know. About any of it.”  
  
Levi observed her movements, seeming to only then register the red material she was holding. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”  
  
There was something about his statement that made her defensive. His tone hadn’t been unfavorable, but that unreadable look in his eyes made her bristle.  
  
He spoke again before she could offer a caustic reply. “Just don’t let Erwin wax poetic at the service. I may not really be dead, but it’s my fucking funeral and I don’t want some drawn out speech. I don’t want anyone getting weepy about it.”  
  
Mikasa inhaled deeply, throwing her eyes to the heavens. “I’m not really sure I have any control over what the commander does or doesn’t say,” and then, because she wasn’t really irritated and his last words had troubled her, “and even if he said nothing I don’t think there’d be a dry eye there, anyway, Heichou.”  
  
Levi gave her a derisive look. “Miss me will they?”  
  
He was being wry, but Mikasa didn’t find it amusing. If anything, she felt a twinge of sadness—did he not think people would mourn him?  
  
She opened her mouth to ask him as much, but the sound of heavy footsteps killed the words in their throat. Levi stiffened, all but throwing himself to the grate to see who approached.  
  
Driven by some silent instinct, Mikasa stayed mute and backed herself against the far corner of the cell. The footsteps were accompanied by the metallic clang of keys on a ring, all together making a disturbing kind of rhythm.  
  
Levi whipped around to face her, and she could see the barely contained apprehension in his eyes. “You need to go,” he hissed, jerking his thumb in a vague movement as if that was the direction she needed to exit.  
  
“I can’t” she breathed, “I don’t know how!”  
  
His control was slipping, more of that manic anxiety showing on his face. “Then fucking figure it out, Ackerman. The jailor catches you here and we’re screwed.”  
  
Said jailor began whistling to the beat of his keys—a jaunty, tuneless ditty that made Mikasa’s pulse spike. She had to get out of there.  
  
She shut her eyes, hoping in vain to somehow trigger the connection again—or end it? She couldn’t tell if this was like trying to fall asleep on command or wake from a nightmare. It was too hot in the close cell, too many distractions. She sank to her knees with a soft thud, curling into herself in an attempt to shut out the noise of those keys.  
  
“I can still see you plain as day, cadet,” Levi rasped. She bared her teeth in frustration but kept her eyes shut.  
  
“It’s _lieutenant_ now, and I’m trying. ” As much as she tried to focus on the buzzing at the back of her head, all she could hear was the jangle of the guard approaching and Levi’s agitated breath. “Yelling at me doesn’t help.”  
  
With a rough yank on her bicep, Levi hauled her to standing. “Too late anyway, brat,” he growled.  
  
Mikasa watched the growing shadow of the jailor—he was close enough now that she could hear the fabric of his clothes as he walked.  
  
Levi, face grim and eyes forward, adopted a stance she’d seen him use many times over. He spoke without looking away from the encroaching shadow. “We’re gonna have to fight, Mikasa.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;dr—The Ackermans have an Ackerconnection because of Ackerpowers (Kudos to all you kool kids that figured it out!). Eren is kept in the dark about everything, per Erwin’s orders, and Armin struggles with his guilt about lying to his best friend.
> 
> See, now, this is the kind of shit that happens when I start rereading older SnK manga chapters after watching Star Wars. AckerForce Bonds commence.
> 
> Dialogue scenes aren't my forte (or my favorite to write), but it's good practice for me and I felt some things needed to be elaborated on. Hopefully it didn't sound too wooden, but let me know if it did.


	8. Bron-Y-Aur Stomp

The metal door gave a screeching whine as it was dragged across the dry ground, the chain that had once secured it closed now rattling like gunfire against the crude grate.

The mellow light from the torch seemed as bright as the sun at noon to Levi’s gloom-adjusted gaze, and he squinted against the assault. The guard was backlit, just a beastly form without a face in the doorway, but Levi knew the man could see everything in the small cell. Mikasa was silent beside him, and for whatever reason neither of them moved despite his earlier promise of a fight.

The jailor chuffed the air like some laboring dog, large arms swinging at his sides as he turned about. Levi heard the clattering of chains. “Hands out,” the man barked, an opened cuff in each of his meaty paws.

Levi hesitated, resisting the urge to look at Mikasa. There was nowhere to hide in this dirt closet of a prison cell, and the torch on the wall did not spare any corners.

“Oi! You fuckin’ deaf now?” The guard shook the handcuffs in Levi’s face. “And who the hell you talkin’ to in here, anyway, shortfuck? Havin’ little conversations with yourself?” the man rasped as he closed the cold metal around Levi’s proffered wrists.

“Just trying to tune out whatever shitty thing you were attempting to whistle.”

The meatiness of the man’s hand didn’t seem to soften the intensity of his clout, and Levi heard Mikasa gasp as his head was knocked sideways. The guard didn’t even react to her outburst, and Levi couldn’t help but grin despite his bloodied mouth.

He couldn’t see her.

“Stupid dog,” grumbled the jailor, giving the chain connecting the cuffs a firm yank. “You’re fightin’ again tonight. The boss is here to watch this one, so best quit yammerin’ and start gittin’ your ass out to the ring.”

He worked his jaw, grimacing against the metallic tang coating his teeth, and turned his head to give Mikasa a meaningful look, mumbling: “I’ll make sure to follow you.”

He didn’t have time to see her reaction before the jailor was pulling him forward. “Nice try, dog, but I’ll be the one followin’ _you_. Don’t want ya wrappin’ those chains around my neck like the savage you are. Go on, git goin’, you know the way by now.” Indeed, he did.

Not for the first time, Levi found himself wishing for a bath. Focusing for too long on the layers of grime made him want to peel his own skin off in frenzied disgust. He nearly had, too, only a moment ago in front of Mikasa. If it wasn’t for the hair-raising sensation of supreme discomfort on the back of his neck he would have felt ashamed by his display of weakness.

He pushed the thought aside and focused on the rhythmic rattle of his chains as he walked. He wished to see Mikasa’s face, take in her expression as she trailed behind them through the massive catacombs of the Underground that the Redeemers called their base.

No doubt she would be just as dumbstruck as he had been the first time when she saw how _organized_ they were. This wasn’t a ragtag group of rebels hiding out in abandoned tunnels; in fact, their sparring corners and regimented soldiers were surprisingly similar to the structure of the Survey Corps, the most jarring difference being their crimson attire instead of the green capes bearing the Wings of Freedom.

He _really_ wished to see her face when they rounded the corner on the ring.

However orderly and militant the rest of the encampment appeared, this was a paragon of human violence and turpitude.

Fight rings were common in the Underground—Kenny had frequented a few, as there was almost always side deals along with the bets—but never had Levi partaken in the savagery. While Kenny had considered the ventures part of Levi’s “education,” he thankfully never put him in the ring, just let the boy soak in the sight of men at war—teeth bared in bloody rage, torn fists raised in victory or dragging the dirt in defeat.

Levi pushed aside all thoughts of his uncle and his lessons as they stopped before the ring. Already a good crowd had gathered; by now word had spread of Levi’s undefeated record, and men lined up to place bets on the strongest Redeemer who thought himself capable of felling the short man with the “fists of iron.”

“Last call for bets! Last call for bets!” bellowed a man from somewhere in the throng of people. The jailor placed a fleshy hand on Levi’s shoulder and pulled him to a standstill, setting to work removing the cuffs. Levi used the moment to look for Mikasa, making like he was merely observing the crowd.

“Levi,” came her agitated voice from his left, and he was relieved that she hadn’t disappeared. She was regarding him and the scene with wide eyes, scarf still clutched in her hands, and he wished he could say something to her without alerting the jailor.

The cuffs were off, falling to the dirt with a muffled clang, and the crowd cheered as if the jailor had just unleashed some kind of beast. Feeding the frenzy, the man lifted his meaty arms and bellowed, as if the uproar was all for him.

Despite the depravity, the acrid stench of blood and piss and unwashed bodies, Levi couldn’t stifle the cold rush of adrenaline running through his veins as he was pushed into the ring. Mikasa followed him into his corner of the enclosure, and he could feel a similar kind of charge emanating from her as she kept close to his side.

“Listen to me,” Levi ground through his teeth, careful to keep his lip movement to a minimum. “The man up there on the parapet,” he jerked his chin in the direction, masking the movement by rolling his shoulders and flexing out his hands as if he were loosening up for the fight. “That’s Rikard. He was there with the red woman when I met her. He’s important. Her confidant, maybe. And they look like fucking twins, so they have to be related.”

Mikasa’s eyes trailed over the low balustrade built into the rock wall, focusing in on the red-haired man overlooking the ring. “Where’s the woman? Is she with him?”

Levi shook his head. “Dunno.” He kept his response short as the umpire entered the ring, the house once more yelling in excitement. He waited until the man had turned away to speak again. “If you disappear, you tell Erwin everything.”

“I’m not leaving you, Heichou—”

“ _Mikasa!”_ His voice was a desperate hiss, and he pressed himself practically into her body so that she’d hear his whispered words above the mass of spectators. “Have a little faith in me.”

There was an odd prickling sensation on the back of his head as he locked eyes with her—an awareness of everything and yet nothing but her.

For a terrifying moment, he thought she might vanish before his eyes, but then the umpire was shouting something and the spell broke, the prickling fading to a dull hum in the recesses of his mind.

“The bets have been placed! This should be a good fight, folks,” the stocky referee bellowed. “For the second time tonight, let’s see what the _Black Dog_ is made of!”

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and hisses as the umpire directed his hand toward Levi. He rolled his neck again, not for show but just to ease the ache of his shoulder—it was a wonder the damn thing hadn’t popped out again with all the fighting he’d been doing.

There was a clamoring on the far side of the ring as people moved aside for the intended opponent. More whistles and applause came from the spectators as not one but _two_ men entered onto the soft dirt. They were both of a similar build, about average height, but clearly no amateur fighters, their exposed arms and torsos revealing lean, corded muscle.

“You have to fight them _both_?” Mikasa’s incredulous voice was near his ear, and he could feel her hand working into her scarf.

Levi didn’t look at her, just watched as the two men took their positions in the ring, completing the triangle around the umpire. “Have a little faith in me,” he repeated, slightly affronted. These men may have had height on their side, and therefore a longer reach, but Levi had the advantage of speed and compact muscle.

The umpire looked up to the parapet, to Rikard—the potentate on his perch—and Levi watched as the red-haired man gave a curt nod. _Begin._ The umpire gave a sharp whistle through his teeth, sweeping his arm into the air and backing away from the center of the ring.

Mikasa copied the action and moved away to the edge of the ring, giving him space. Levi had the unreasonable urge to pull her back. The two men before him assumed orthodox stances, alive on their toes as they edged closer to him like two alley cats cornering a mouse.

This would be one of the harder fights, Levi realized sourly. The men he’d fought so far had been sluggers—brutish, but slow—and Levi’s speed and stature had served him well in those fights. But these men were out-fighters with the leaner builds of someone like Jaeger or Kirschtein, and they’d have an easier time matching his agility.

The one to his left, however, kept his back foot turned inward at an awkward angle—his posturing was excellent, but his footwork was lazy. Levi tucked the information away and shifted his focus to the other man.

He was notably younger than Lazy Footwork—just a kid, really, younger than Mikasa. His form was considerably better than his confederate’s, but his age showed in his eagerness. He’d tire quickly. He’d go down quickly.

That was assuming Levi didn’t flag first; it was two against one and he wasn’t exactly in top form.

Levi feinted left, planting his dominant foot before quickly changing his stance and lunging the opposite way toward the younger man. His opponent was caught off guard by his switch-hitter move, defense dropping and leaving his face completely exposed for Levi’s left fist.

The young man’s head snapped back from the force of the strike just as Lazy Footwork moved in to attack. Levi was ready, pivoting away from the man’s uppercut and capturing his arm before delivering a swift kick to the back of his knees, sending him sprawling.

The audience was rabid, shouts ranging from encouragement to instructions to expletives filling the ring. Levi caught more than one exclamation of “Black Dog!” but it was difficult to differentiate the taunts from the acclaim. He bristled at the appellation, not for the name itself but rather for people’s inveterate love for giving things a label.

Nonetheless, he supposed being called a dog was rather fitting considering his origins. _Wouldn’t Kenny be proud_ , he thought bitterly. There were no rules in this ring, no play unfair or trick too dirty. And Levi had a lot of dirty tricks.

The downed man recovered well, which wasn’t necessarily surprising—despite his years on the youth, he was by no means doddering, maybe only a decade older than Levi. He was a man still within his prime, and what he lacked in footwork he made up for in the velocity of his strikes, elbow following through after a bluff jab and nearly catching the side of Levi’s head.

Instinct made him turn, and he managed to avoid the cross of the now recovered younger man. Levi ducked and arched his right leg upwards, catching the youth’s jaw with his foot. The blow made a resounding crack and elicited a gasp from several onlookers.

“Levi, your right!” Mikasa shouted the warning from somewhere behind him, but he was too slow to react—Lazy Footwork collided into his side at full force, and both of them fell into the powdery dirt, sending a plume of the dust into the air.

The man made to straddle Levi’s chest but was easily disarmed with a blow to the ribs. Levi scrambled to his feet before the younger man could join the tuffle and felt his shoulder protest. He danced away from his adversaries, teeth gritted in pain, backing around the ring as he tried to conserve his energy, which was waning at an alarming rate. His sides ached from previous rounds, and the fall to the ground had tweaked his shoulder again.

His weakened state must have been obvious to his opponents; the Black Dog was slowing down, there was a chance for a victory here. It was galvanizing.

There was only so much ducking and rolling Levi could do in his condition, and finally he was knocked to his ass when he failed to evade a powerful jab from Lazy Footwork. His shoulder made an odd _clicking_ sound as Lazy ripped him from the ground, snaking his lean arms around Levi’s and effectively restraining them.

Front exposed and arms trapped behind his back, Levi was now wide open for the kid’s ruthless onslaught. He was nothing but a punching bag, a piece of meat for the youth to wail on. The younger man’s age was his greatest asset here—he probably could have kept this up for hours, just swinging jabs and crosses until his hands broke.

It was an odd time to be thinking of a bath, but that was where Levi’s thoughts went. Not a shower but a _bath._ If he ever got out of this wretched pit, he would pour himself a nice, hot bath and he’d stay in it until every last layer was peeled away and then some, leaving his flesh raw. And he’d probably do it again, fresh water and hotter still.

The din of the audience kept dipping in and out each time the kid landed a punch to Levi’s gut, his face, his sides. His vision was blurring, senses dulling, but not even the _rage_ he felt for his debility could snap him into action.

But one voice stood out amongst the clangor, a voice only he could hear. _Her_ voice. She was shouting at him, bellowing his name in anger, in desperation. He caught sight of Mikasa from over the youth’s shoulder after recovering from a second blow to the jaw. Her face was wild, the same face she wore in battle—eyes aflame and teeth bared like some glorious hellcat.

“Heichou!” There was a clear note of hysteria in her voice, a tone he’d never heard from Mikasa Ackerman, and he saw the way she shuffled and dodged around in the dirt like a prancing horse, scarf stuffed into her back pocket so that her hands were free to clench and flail uselessly—she knew there was nothing she could do to help him and it was driving her mad. “Get out of there!”

Another hook to his side.

“Come on, _fight!”_ Her voice cracked in despair, fists clenching in some unconscious defense as the youth went in again for yet another uppercut.

It hadn’t been that long, half a minute maybe, but it felt like ages that he’d been trapped in the man’s unrelenting vise as the youth continued to pummel away.

“ _LEVI!”_ She was crying now, his name a broken, bloody thing on her tongue as she begged.

_If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. If you don’t fight, you can’t win…_

“Mikasa…” He’d barely breathed her name, and even if he’d had the strength to shout, the noise from the spectators would have been difficult to overcome. And yet she heard him. She so _clearly_ heard him, he could tell by the way her mouth parted and her breath caught. He could _hear_ it catch.

That prickling sensation at the back of his head was back once more, only this time he didn’t try to suppress it. He focused on the dull hum, pulling it toward him until it howled louder than the crowd and surged against his eyes and under his skin.

Gone were the shouts from the Redeemers ringside, the grunts from the kid as he swung—only the sound of her breath remained, which he heard in his ear though she stood several feet away from him. And Levi could have laughed in relief as the weakness suddenly left his bones and was replaced by that familiar burn of _power._

He timed it, incredibly sure of himself now, waited until the youth pulled back his fist for another strike, opening up. He let himself go limp in Lazy Footwork’s arms, using the slight give in the man’s restraint to press back quickly and kick up his feet, his right foot shooting forth like an arrow and connecting with the kid’s nose.

_Crack._

The noise of the crowd returned to his ears instantly, the deafening uproar rivaled only by the choking scream from the youth’s lungs. The arms restraining him loosened significantly. Levi didn’t wait for the man to recover from his shock as he whipped his head back and was met with another sickening crack. Lazy’s hands fell away completely as he cradled his own broken nose.

Levi really couldn’t remember how he got the man on the ground, didn’t really remember the exact combination of moves he’d used to completely _flatten_ him, but the man wasn’t moving anymore and that was good enough for Levi. He could have been dead, unconscious—he didn’t bother determining which, just set his sights on the younger man. He had broken both their noses, he would put them both down. He was all fire—pure, white-hot rage and animalistic hunger.

Levi straddled the youth, no quarter in his assault, his fist nothing but a hammer upon a nail. He was vaguely aware of the umpire pawing at his shoulder, but his elbow to the man’s cheek quickly got rid of the distraction. Several more hands seized his arms but they were quickly removed in a similar fashion.

In all, it took about four Redeemers to pry Levi away from their young comrade, and even still it was a struggle to wrangle him onto his back. He caught a flash of black hair—Mikasa. He jerked and writhed against the men holding him, desperately trying to catch sight of her, to hear her voice again.

Despite his crazed, drunken state of fury, Levi retained enough sense to not call out for her. Yet his throat ached for it, _needed_ to utter the syllables of her name. The face that appeared before him, however, looming like a monstrous bird of prey and blocking what was left of his limited view, was decidedly not Mikasa.

“My, my, my,” Rikard intoned, smiling like he’d swooped and caught a mouse in a field. “It is a pity the Red Mother was not here to see _that.”_

Levi channeled all the burning hate through his glare, straining against the men pinning his limbs. Rikard only chuckled, a grating sound deep within his throat, clearly enjoying the sight of his struggle. The power was slowly leaving his body, draining away like sand through a sieve and leaving him more exhausted than before.

“However, I do think she’ll be more than pleased when she hears about this...development.” He regarded the men huddled next to them, seeking a reaction, and they all nodded doggedly. Pleased with the response, Rikard moved away from Levi and ordered over his shoulder, “return him to the cell.”

The Redeemers complied wordlessly, the two holding Levi’s arms lifting him to standing. The fight was gone from him, and when he stood he saw that most of the crowd had left as well. He didn’t see either of his opponents. Nor did he see Mikasa.

“Oh, and give the dog a bath. He’s fucking filthy,” Rikard added without turning around, striding out of the ring. Levi didn’t have the strength to be offended, the anticipation of a bath in any form the only thing keeping him from passing out.

He was escorted to a different cell, slightly larger than the previous one and possessing a proper door, but the light was just as bad here and the air carried the familiar stench of mold and wet. The bed in the corner was nothing but a slim pallet—not that he was complaining at this point, anything was better than curling up in the dirt after getting the shit kicked out of you.

The jailor from before unlocked the cell and his escorts tossed him in unceremoniously. “The bucket for your business is in the corner. We’ll bring you another one for you to wash up in and somethin’ to wear,” the meatus rasped, slamming the barred door shut, locking him inside. “If you’re good, we might even bring you somethin’ to eat.”

Levi wasn’t hungry, but he knew that would probably change once he’d washed. Alone now in the cold, quiet cell, he realized Mikasa must have disappeared again.

He slumped gracelessly onto the hard pallet bed, every muscle in his body aching and his nose still bleeding freely. His head pounded, but there was also a distinct thrumming at the back of his skull that he could differentiate from the pain—a familiar tug against his mind.

Had he been stronger, he would have pulled on the tether, would have attempted to open up that connection again. At least he knew now the two were connected. He wondered if Mikasa could feel it too, wondered if she had felt him the way he’d felt her. He still remembered the delicate sound of her breath catching in her throat.

Some indeterminable amount of time had passed—he’d fallen asleep still sitting, slumped slightly over his bent legs. The jailor dropped the bucket at his feet with a loud clatter, water sloshing dangerously, jarring Levi awake.

The man also brought a stool, placing on its surface a bowl full of murky soup and a cup of water. He had, indeed, brought clothes, and he tossed the garments onto Levi’s legs. Just a shirt and some pants, but they seemed reasonably clean. The jailor didn’t spare a word before leaving again.

Levi didn’t move for a while, not even to bathe. He rested his forehead against his fist heavily, elbow propped upon his knee, caught between the fine edge of sleep and wakefulness.

Finally, he found a vestige of strength and pulled himself to his knees, grasping the bucket and finding that a gray, threadbare rag and a small block of soap had been included in the water. It was hardly what he would call a bath, but he’d take what he could get at this point.

As he set to soaping and scrubbing his arms, careful of the bruises and injuries littering his skin, he became gradually aware of someone observing him. He ignored them for a moment, letting the cold water return him to his senses as he splashed it over his face.

He hissed in pain when the water cast over his damaged features, watching in disgust as the liquid turned from clear to a muddy pink in the bucket.

Mind slightly clearer, Levi finally turned his head to seek the eyes of his observer. There were multiple cells lining the hall, he realized. He wondered just how many prisoners these Redeemers obtained.

The cell directly across from his was almost completely dark, but he knew it wasn’t vacant. There was a glint of amber as the pair of eyes he sought finally caught the light of the torch in the hall.

“Oi. Dennard.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a quick-as-I-can chapter update. Can't speak to its quality, but there ya go. Hope you enjoyed. I'm already almost through with the next one, so hopefully I'll have another update for ya asap. Things are really gonna start heating up for our duo...in many ways...
> 
> As always, thank you for your support and feedback. muah


	9. Your Time Is Gonna Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you, as always, to everyone for reviewing, liking, sharing, and all the love.

Levi heard her speak as clearly as if she were sitting in the cell next to him. He froze immediately. It was unmistakably her voice, and the first sign of their connection he’d felt since the day before during the fight.

_“I didn’t know you read, captain.”_

Across the hall in the neighboring cell, a pair of amber eyes watched him curiously. “What is it?”

Levi held up a hand, listening.

Dennard remained still, stale hunk of bread held in her pale fingers as she waited to hear the sound that had grabbed his attention. When she heard nothing, she said as much, and he sent her a look. The girl reminded him of Mikasa at times—ever impatient and stubborn.

He glanced around the confines of his cell, sure that the woman herself was going to appear any moment. It had been her voice he’d heard, clear as day, and he could almost feel her presence there with him, hear her breath. It made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

There was a distinct—and by now, familiar—tug at the back of his mind.

“Dennard.” The girl’s head shot up at the sound of her name, and he lifted his empty tankard through the bars of his cell. “If the guard comes, throw this at me.”

The waif arched a pale brow at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Don’t question. I can’t explain it just yet.” He aimed carefully before tossing the cup across the pathway dividing their cells. The girl dropped her bread into her lap just in time to catch the incoming missile, sending him another look of confusion. She didn’t argue, however. She may have been stubborn, but she was smart.

Levi retreated into the shadowed corner of his confinement, sitting on his cot and resting his elbows on his knees. _Concentrate._

The tug on his mind was still there—faint, but there. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation, pushing aside any thought of how ridiculous he looked, clearing his mind. He sat there in the darkness for what felt like a good ten minutes, but nothing seemed to be changing. The pressure on the back of his skull remained.

He sighed in frustration and stood abruptly, walking back and forth across the short length of his cell. He could feel Dennard’s yellow eyes on him once more.

“Where are you trying to go?”

At first he thought she was mocking him, but her face was too serious for even the driest of humor. Still, even if he had felt up to it, he wasn’t sure he knew how to explain it all to her.

“A funeral,” he deadpanned, resuming his walk. Dennard didn’t reply, but he heard her shift and approach the bars of her cell. She was watching him closely. It was unnerving. “Stop staring,” he snapped, returning to the privacy of his cot in an attempt to escape her amber orbs.

“Focus,” was all she said, and he was struck yet again by how much older than her years she seemed. The kid had been through a lot for one so young, and Levi knew first hand how quickly childhood could end, but there was a knowing _sageness_ about Dennard that was almost as unsettling as her strange eyes.

_Where are you trying to go?_

A good question, actually. He was reaching out into a formless space, grasping blindly at something that he wasn’t sure was even there. He could sit on his head for days and focus, but that probably wouldn’t change a damn thing. He needed a _destination. Where are you?_

A strange thing happened when he allowed himself to picture the ebony-haired woman’s face, and his eyes flew open involuntarily. The pull on his mind had _intensified._ Encouraged, Levi tried again, this time refusing to shy away from the sensation.

The air around him had changed, no longer damp and close but cooler and much more welcoming. He leaned into the shift, relaxing into the new atmosphere, but when he opened his eyes he was dismayed to see that his surroundings hadn’t changed. He was still in the cell.

“ _Focus.”_

Levi closed his eyes and tried again. The faint smell of detergent reached his nose, as well as...something else. Something _familiar_.

_Focus._

His head was thrumming now, his ears ringing, and he very nearly lost his concentration a second time as he realized what the other scent was. _Mikasa._

And he was there.

 

* * *

  

“None ‘a you probably know this about Levi, but that bastard had the voice of an angel,” Efran slurred, cup raised like he was preparing a toast.

He was drunk—they all were—and currently held the entire room enraptured as he recounted some of his fondest memories of Levi Ackerman.

Drinking and laughing with friends in the mess hall was a welcomed reprieve from the bleak events of the day. Funerals were never happy affairs. Even the fake ones.

Mikasa supposed that was the main reason for the very real emotion in her chest—lying to her friends. She wanted nothing more than to reveal the truth to a sobbing Sasha, or confide in Jean to ease his devastation.

She could ‘t even look at Eren.

Hanji had cried quite heartily at the service, and Mikasa could only assume it was for the same reasons, for her tears were not forced. Armin had stayed beside Eren the entire day, both bearing grim-stricken faces as they’d watched the empty casket of their captain disappear into the earth—the former would no doubt spend the rest of the night talking the latter out of his grief-induced rage.

The funeral itself had been nothing grand or showy. It adhered to the typical protocol of a military burial, the majority of the attendees being military themselves and all dressed in uniform. Erwin gave his eulogy, which had been a moving, eloquent speech and something Levi would have thoroughly despised.

 _“_ But Levi never sang for _meee!”_ Hanji whined, so thoroughly in her cups that she weaved and bobbed in her seat.

“He never sang for _anyone!”_ Efran matched her indignation with a thrust of his tankard, mead sloshing over the rim and onto the table. “Once in a lifetime opportunity, I tell ya.”

There were a few at the table who voiced their disbelief at Efran’s tale, but the man lapsed into yet another story about the short captain which quickly had everyone smiling and laughing again.

Mikasa realized Hanji had asked her a question and she’d missed it. “I’m sorry?”

“S’fine, I just asked if you’d had anymore of your _headaches_ since yesterday.”

A clever codeword, Mikasa thought, and she wondered just _how_ drunk Hanji was. She shook her head, “not since yesterday.”

Hanji nodded and leaned in, smiling as if she were about to tell Mikasa a private joke. She definitely wasn’t as intoxicated as she let on. “Have you tried to...you know... _connect?”_

Mikasa sent a quick glance around the room but everyone was either too drunk or too engrossed in conversation to notice the two women conversing. “Haven’t had a chance,” she muttered through her teeth, raising her tankard to her lips only to find it empty.

Hanji threw her head back and guffawed heartily, startling those in her proximity including Mikasa—she hadn’t known the scientist to be such a good actor. “Good one, Mikasa! You should tell jokes _more often_!”

Mikasa waved off a few curious spectators who requested she repeat her “joke” for them, and rose from her seat, wobbling slightly at the sudden shift. She made her excuses, claiming she’d reached her limit and needed to rest, before leaving the room.

The hall outside was dark and deserted and _so much quieter._ Mikasa breathed in relief.

She had, in fact, reached her limit, hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall when her vision swam. The cold stone felt nice against her skin, and she rested her burning forehead against its surface with a sigh.

The image of Levi pinned to the dirt by several Redeemers had been in her head all day, and she could see it now behind her closed eyes, his savage and bloodied face vivid in her mind.

Mikasa didn’t know why the connection had severed when it did, but she certainly hadn’t intended for it to. She’d promised not to leave him, and what had she done?

Mikasa groaned and pushed away from the stone, wobbling down the darkened hall and taking a swig from the bottle in her hand...when had she grabbed it? She couldn’t remember taking it with her from the mess.

She didn’t have a destination in mind, content to roam the silent halls alone with her thoughts. It wasn’t until she reached a familiar doorway that she realized her feet had carried her to Levi’s quarters. She stood there for a moment, contemplating turning around and heading back to find her own room. Curiosity tugged at her hand, however, and before she knew it she was pushing the door open.

She’d only been here a handful of times, whether to deliver papers—or even, on occasion, tea—and had received more than one tongue-lashing before his desk. The room was impeccably clean, as always, despite the thin layer of dust that had gathered in the captain’s absence. Yet, it looked nearly unrecognizable in the pale glow of the moonlight that streamed through the tall windows.

Mikasa took another sip of alcohol as she roamed the room on silent feet, her skirt swishing about her as she explored. Normally she’d feel incredibly guilty about snooping, but the drink had dulled her senses and therefore her compunction.

There wasn’t much in terms of personal effects aside from the teapot and matching cups on the desk, and Mikasa had to assume it was due to her captain’s meticulous nature. She could only imagine how he’d react to the dust that had accumulated on his desk.

She moved away from the center of the room toward a cabinet in the corner. Mikasa had never noticed its existence before, as it was flush against the wall and facing the bed, turned away from the main focus of the room and out of sight from the doorway. Facing the cabinet, she saw that it was actually a bookcase, the shelves neatly lined with volumes and one or two odd trinkets.

“I didn’t know you read, captain,” she mumbled, impressed by some of the titles. He actually had quite a collection, ranging from poetry to fiction and even some philosophy. Mikasa spent a few minutes perusing the books, her finger tracing across the leather spines, the alcohol making her head thrum and the words go in and out of focus.

A particular title caught her eye, one she didn’t recognize, and she placed the nearly empty bottle on one of the lower shelves so she could pry the hefty volume from its perch. It was old, and obviously well-used, the edges of its pages curled and yellowed with age. It was a collection of poems, none of them known to Mikasa, but all by the same author.

How had she never known this side of the captain? He was a private person, true, but not even Hanji or Erwin mentioned _this_ about him. Yet, while the tall bookcase filled with tomes and stories definitely surprised her, Mikasa found it oddly fitting, and suddenly she could picture her captain sitting at his desk, drinking tea, reading one of these books.

“Lost, Ackerman?”

It was nothing short of a miracle that the book didn’t go flying from Mikasa’s hands as she startled. At first she thought the drink had caused her to hallucinate, but then Levi stepped beside her to take the tome from her grasp and she could feel his body heat.

 _Real_.

He was here. She hadn’t left. This time, for whatever reason, he’d come to her. She tried formulating words, a response, but all she could do was gape at him.

“It’s not polite to snoop, brat.” Even in the shadows she could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Embarrassment heated her cheeks, which made her annoyed. She finally found her voice. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people.” To her dismay, the sentence came out less coherent than she wanted, and he gave her an odd look.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No.” She sounded like a little kid, and her face flushed even further.

Levi tucked the book back into its place, his eyes landing on the near-empty bottle on the shelf below. “Ah, you’re a thief _and_ a liar.” He picked up the bottle, swiping a hand across the shelf where it had rested, and held it out to her. Before she could grab it, however, he yanked it away. “On second thought, you’ve had enough.”

He turned abruptly and walked toward his desk, leaving her gawking in the shadows. She realized he didn’t seem all that angry with her, which was rather surprising. His clothes were different—plain, albeit newer and clean—and he was no longer coated in blood and grime. Aside from the black bruises beneath his eyes and the cuts on his face and hands, he looked better than she’d seen him in a while.

She wanted to say this, tell him she was glad to see him safe, ask how he was doing. But all that came out was, “I didn’t know you read.”

 

* * *

  

Levi supposed he should be annoyed to find the brat nosing around his room, but it wasn’t like he had that much to hide, anyway. And there was something mildly humorous about watching an inherently stoic woman slur her words and stumble under the influence of drink.

Still, perhaps he should make her clean the place as punishment—it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to break into a cleaning frenzy at the sight of all the dust that had piled in his absence. Disgusting. Probably a health hazard, too. Who knew what would happen next. He shuddered at the thought of mold.

He managed an eye roll. “Yes, you already said that.”

Her look of shock was rewarding, the expression compounded by her lack of inhibition. It quickly turned to anger. “How long have you been lurking here just watching me?”

“Not long. And I don’t lurk. I just got here. I think I’m understanding this whole connection thing better.” He placed the bottle upon a drink coaster on his desk before sitting in one of the chairs. “I heard you in my head, that’s what made me try coming to you this time,” he added, sinking deeper into his seat with a sigh.

“You... _heard_ me say that?”

He nodded without looking at her, eyes closed. The chair was decidedly more comfortable than the cot back in his cell. He heard the rustle of her skirt as she approached, and he opened one eye, regarding her lazily. She bristled under his gaze, clearly affronted by his indifference.

“You look...cleaner.” She had a way of making the most benign comments sound like insults.

“I am.” He didn’t back down from her molten gaze, which narrowed even further. “How was the funeral?” he asked suddenly. The change in her expression was startling.

“You would have hated it,” she mumbled, but he could see the pain in her eyes.

He cleared his throat and sat forward in his seat, suddenly regretting his behaviour. “Why were you drinking?” He kept his voice soft, his eyes down.

Mikasa sighed then, and he felt all the tension leave the room, leaving him with a sense of exhaustion. “Everybody was. It’s not really an act, you know. It was difficult at the service. Even those of us who know you’re alive…” She trailed off, brow scrunching in a strange way, and for a horrifying moment he thought she was going to cry.

Giving comfort had never been his area of expertise. Words in general had always flummoxed him—it was much easier to break bones or bark a command or follow orders than to offer a shoulder to cry on. “Don’t worry about me. Just focus on stopping these cult freaks. You’ve got someone on the inside now, so use that to your advantage.”

Her smirk surprised him, her brow softening as she nodded. “Yessir.” She offered a sloppy imitation of a salute, not even trying, before slumping down in the chair beside him. “Why _do_ you have so many books?”

It wasn’t spoken harshly, but he still felt the prickle of insecurity. He’d never cared what people thought of him before now. “I may have been born in the Underground, Mikasa, but I’m not illiterate.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said hastily, her face flushing again. “I never once thought that, Heichou. I guess I never thought about it in any regard. It was just surprising, that’s all. My parents loved books, and I always loved reading as a child.”

It was the first time he’d heard her mention anything of her parents. Something dark and painful flickered behind her eyes, and he watched as she assembled her protective mask. Even inebriated, the girl had an astonishing hold on her emotions.

“You can borrow one.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said it. But he meant it. She gave him a confused look. “A book, I mean. It’ll keep the shelves from getting dusty.”

A faint blush rose on Mikasa’s cheeks. “I’m sorry for sneaking in here, Heichou. I don’t even know why I came.” She fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt, avoiding his gaze. “And I couldn’t possibly take—“

“If it makes you feel better, you can take a duster to the place as recompense.” When she started to shake her head again he added, “twice. And a mop.”

He hadn’t expected her to laugh at that. But she did, head thrown back and porcelain throat exposed. It was a pleasant sound, happy, and probably amplified by the alcohol, but he didn’t mind that at all.

“All right, Heichou, I accept my punishment. And I’ll be very careful with your books.”

“You’d better. And no late returns, brat.”

She grinned and nodded adamantly, her hand playing absently at her collarbone out of habit—as if her fingers missed having the scarf there. “Gimme my drink back.”

Levi squinted his eyes at her. “I think you’ve had more than enough if you can’t remember how to address your superior officer.”

She inhaled deeply, barely managing to stifle a groan. “Please?” and then, “please, captain?”

His eyes narrowed even further. “And your speech is turning to shit. You can barely talk.”

This time she did groan, eyes rolling to the sky as she heaved herself to standing and reached for the bottle beside him. “That’s right, you would know with all the reading you do.” Her voice was low and very close to his ear as she leaned across him for the bottle. He wondered if she was doing this as a power move or if she really had lost all sense of personal space.

Prize in hand, she collapsed back into her seat, a look of triumph on her face as she took a large swig of the alcohol.

“Don’t go crying to me when you shit all that out in a few hours.” He noted how little was left of the drink. “I honestly hope for your sake that someone helped you with that.”

“Nah, I have a very good tolerance.”

“Clearly.”

“Most people would be out cold by now!” She polished off the remaining liquor as if to prove a point, lifting the now empty bottle into the air like a trophy. Levi tsked before she could place it back onto his desk without a coaster. She mumbled something indiscernible—probably an insult—but resorted to holding the bottle in her lap.

Levi watched her as she fingered the fabric of her skirt, a look of consternation on her face. “What, you don’t like it?” he asked, nodding his chin at her dress.

Her frown deepened as she gathered the blue material in her hand, bunching it up and letting it fall about her knees before repeating the process all over again. “There’s just so much…skirt.” She tossed the fabric once more before collapsing her hand into her lap, fingers starting a rhythm on the glass bottle.

“Too much?” Levi wasn’t about to claim he knew what constituted too much or too little skirt. She did look rather uncomfortable in the garment, however, which he found odd—it wasn’t like he’d never seen her wear dresses before.

Mikasa smirked, eyes sliding over to him. “I could hide you in this thing.”

Even drunk, she was a brat. Probably worse so—an uninhibited brat. “Was that a height joke?” he monotoned.

“No, that was a skirt joke.”

“The girl worth a hundred soldiers makes skirt jokes. Perhaps you should be given the title of _Humanity’s Drunkest_ , because that was just sad.”

Mikasa gave an unattractive sounding snort and mumbled, “Well, you’re Humanity’s _Wrongest.”_

Levi blinked at her, the corner of his left brow lifting. “... _Wrongest?_ Can you...can you hear yourself right now?” He’d never seen her like this before. _How drunk_ was _she?_ “That’s not even a word, brat.”

“Well, it is now, _Captain Wrongest.”_

She cracked herself up at that, doubling over into breathy little giggles. Both of Levi’s eyebrows lifted then.

“You sound like an imbecile. Just stop talking.” He sounded serious, but he wasn’t; the sight of Mikasa Ackerman drunk off her ass and tittering like a schoolgirl was excellent fodder for extortion should he need it at a later date.

It was also just the slightest bit humorous.

“The truth hurts, huh?” Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, eyes glassy with mirth and the effects of the wine.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” And he didn’t, really, she wasn’t making much sense at this point, but he knew his obstinance would get a rise out of her.

“Yeah, you do!” she sing-songed.

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.”

“You are, don’t argue.” He crossed his arms and looked away as if bored. He wasn’t.

“You’re no fun.” She mirrored him, but it only made her appear petulant.

“I thought drunks were easily entertained.”

“I’m not a drunk!”

“A child, then.”

She turned on him abruptly, almost falling from her chair. “I’m not a child, either.”

He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. Oh, he was _definitely_ enjoying this. “Could’ve fooled me.”

She stood again, lording over him like a Titan, brow furrowed in consternation. “Is that how you see me?” She sounded genuinely bothered. “Do you think me juvenile, Levi?”

Something in her tone grabbed his attention—or perhaps it was the absence of his honorific. He regarded her carefully from the side. She seemed to realize she was looming and sat back in her chair with a surprising amount of control given her state.

“I think you’re a brat.” Not a lie. Not the truth, either.

“That’s not what I asked.” Mikasa’s voice had lost all of its previous frivolity, her eyes like two dark stones burning into him. “I want to know what you see when you look at me.”

Levi was quite sure she would _never_ ask him these kinds of questions sober.

He looked away from her burning eyes, feeling uncomfortably warm all of a sudden as if he’d had some alcohol himself. He could continue being deliberately obtuse, but the game had lost its meaning somewhere along the way.

Before he could speak, however, Mikasa began laughing again, apparently onto a new topic. “Eren’s getting married,” she said, an odd grin on her face.

“What?”

“I don’t think you’ve met her—Rubie, that is. She’s really nice. Doctor’s daughter from some village near Yalkell.” There wasn’t a trace of animosity in her voice, no bitterness. Strange.

Levi was struck by how much must have changed in his absence. Not since being trapped in a dirty cell in the Underground, but long before he and Mikasa had even ventured down there. His mission to gather intel on the Redeemers had been assigned to him a while ago, and the only time he found himself back at HQ was to brief Erwin or to gather supplies for his next outing. A clandestine life had become his reality. In the time he’d spent away, while much had changed, several things remained the same. But looking at the dark haired girl before him—no, not a girl anymore—he could see the changes in her very clearly.

Maybe it was the alcohol. “And?” he finally questioned when she didn’t elaborate.

“And what?”

He paused, searching her eyes. Levi wasn’t one to conserve the feelings of others, typically, but felt the need to tread very lightly in this case. “You’re not...this isn’t…”

“Eren and I made peace a while ago,” she murmured, voice surprisingly sober, and he was glad she’d managed to understand his rambling.

A silence stretched between them. For once Levi felt the need to fill it, but he failed to find something to talk about, and continuing along the Eren topic didn’t seem wise. But they’d made peace? He found he was extremely curious about what that meant, and he didn’t know why. The interpersonal lives of his soldiers, the gossip of peers—it had never appealed to him.

“I’m going to get you out of there.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it still jarred him from his thoughts. She wasn’t looking at him, her thumb tracing the peeling label of the bottle. “I’ll do my duty, I’ll follow orders, but I won’t leave you down there.”

She did look at him then, and Levi felt his stomach drop when he saw a glassiness in her eyes that wasn’t because of the wine. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she was talking again, forcing the words out ahead of the emotion.

“You’ll put duty before your own life, that’s just who you are. You’re strong. Probably too strong for your own good.” She inhaled a rattling breath, knuckles white as she gripped the neck of the bottle. “But so am I, and I’m not going to let you...let you...”

Mikasa stood abruptly, her face turned from his. Levi couldn’t remember ever seeing her like this. Angry, passionate—yes, he’d seen Mikasa Ackerman display those emotions, even toward him. But this was different. Something fragile and unexplored and therefore _terrifying._

Carefully, Levi rose from his chair, afraid of making too much sound lest he break whatever spell hung in the air. Her shoulders were bunched, arms tense, and from the back it almost looked like she was angry. He wanted to say her name, but his voice was a foreign thing in his throat. He reached out his hand.

The back of his head thrummed.

She gasped when his fingers touched the skin of her wrist. Her eyes snapped to his, no longer teary but molten and unwavering, and he knew she could feel that odd buzzing.

Her flesh was hot beneath his hand, alive and burning like that _presence_ in his skull. Her mouth parted, not to speak, but just from the sheer strangeness of the experience.

“Can you feel that?” Levi muttered, his heart beating madly against his chest. She nodded, eyes round and depthless.

He gathered her forearm into his hands, fingers clasping it until they overlapped. It struck him how such a delicate limb could do so much _damage._

Her pulse throbbed against his index finger, a wild current that beat in time with his own, and he suddenly wanted to feel more of it.

“Like something’s pulling,” he lifted his other hand, sliding it under her hair and touching the base of her skull, fingers applying a gentle pressure, “just there.”

She smelled like soap and wine and something warm, feminine. Levi wanted to pull her to him completely and breathe her in. Her wrist rotated in his grasp, her forearm pressing against his own as her fingers wrapped around it.

Her eyes had lowered to his neck, to his jaw, avoiding his gaze. She was still drunk, he reasoned, but that wasn’t the reason for her flushed cheeks.

_I want to know what you see when you look at me._

The buzzing became a pleasant, steady hum coursing between them, intensifying the closer he inched to her. “Look at me,” he ordered, but his voice was a muted rasp, desperate rather than commanding. Mikasa’s hair was thick and soft in his hand, the ebony strands parting like silk as he carded his fingers up the back of her head.

A groan stirred in her throat when he tightened his grip on the dark strands. Or had he made the sound? He couldn’t tell anymore.

_Look at me._

Her lashes fluttered as her onyx gaze drifted to meet his, her pupils full and dark. He could make out every detail of that scar below her eye.

Several things happened at once, all of which spiked his blood and sent a rush of something electric down his spine. First came Hanji’s familiar and all too loud bellow from outside the door; Mikasa’s eyes met his, and he couldn’t be sure if her gasp was due to the intensity of his own gaze or from the sudden intrusion.

The last thing he heard before he disappeared was the creaking of his door and the shattering of the glass bottle as it hit the ground.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;dr: Levi can now visit Mikasa, yay! Things get fluffy and tingly, and then Hanji does a major cockblock before things can get kinky, and Levi disappears.
> 
> Hanji whyyyyyy?!? Goddamnit.
> 
> I thought we needed some fluff up in here, and to take their relationship to the next stage. I wanted to showcase some of the strange—and primal—emotions this connection might bring up for our couple. Hopefully this isn’t moving too fast? Lemme know your thoughts...


	10. You Shook Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erwin gets chatty. Things get fluffy. Hanji is a cinnamon roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter FOUGHT me, my goodness. Apologies for the delay. Fuck you, chapter ten. Fuck. You.

 

A headache had begun to blossom in the center of Erwin Smith’s forehead, and no amount of massaging the space with his thumb would alleviate it. He still did it anyway, driving the digit between his brows with a punishing pressure.

He had MPs breathing down his neck and a corrupt group of extremists to deal with, all while looking after the safety of humanity’s future.

In all, a normal day.

Hanji was pacing in front of his desk, babbling something he was only half listening to, her hands gesticulating in excitement like a pair of fluttering birds. Efran stood by the door, engaged in the meeting but maintaining a distance from the center of the room.

Despite his quiet respect, the tattooed man stuck out, and it wasn’t just because of the maze of ink etched across his skin—although that alone certainly turned some heads. The man, much like Levi, had a presence that filled a room, no matter how small or hidden he made himself. There was an intensity to his gaze that spoke of capability, but also made one wary of just _what_ he was capable of.

War defined a man, separated the wheat from the chaff quicker than anything, and Erwin was no stranger to the hardened gaze of a war-tempered soldier. But there was something about the Underground, a different forge entirely, that gave men like Levi and Efran an added annealing; survival down there held new significance, and a life of hunger, disease and squalor echoed in its teaching.

Levi wouldn’t have chosen just anyone to act as courier for their coded messages, so the fact that the captain had entrusted Efran with the task said something. And at this point, that was good enough for Erwin to trust the man as well.

That, and he’d rescued one of humanity’s strongest soldiers.

Mikasa Ackerman was an unprecedented force to say the least, and at times she seemed nearly unearthly in her resilience, but she most certainly would have died that day had it not been for the actions of Efran.

Erwin could count on one hand the scant number of times in his life where something had really, truly shaken him. Seeing the girl worth one hundred soldiers reduced to a fragile, lifeless thing—her clothes soaked in blood, arm broken, hands shredded—had been one of those occasions.

The girl sitting before him now was much more recognizable. Her arm, while still in a splint, was healing quickly, her bruises and other injuries fading even quicker, and every day she appeared less pallid. The dark circles underneath her eyes didn’t appear to change, but Erwin figured they were probably due to a combination of poor sleep and the toll of Hanji’s experiments.

“This is probably the second biggest disappointment of my career!” the scientist abruptly bellowed, throwing her hands above her head in aggravation.

Until now, Erwin had only been half focused on what the woman was saying, content to let her wear a hole through his floor while he contemplated the current affairs eating away at his nerves. “Hanji, just because we’re unable to see Levi like Mikasa can, doesn’t mean you cannot study the phenomenon.”

“No, that’s not what I mean!” she cried, clearly not placated by his statement. “Levi picked up a _book_ and I missed it! How would that look to someone outside of their connection? Would it just be a floating book in the air? Or would the book itself then disappear from sight once he touched it?”

Before he could interrupt the flow of questions, Hanji halted mid stride, rounding on the dark-haired woman sitting between them. “Mikasa, either Armin or I will need to be with you constantly from now on. We’ll stagger shifts so you’ll never be alone while one of us is preoccupied with necessary things such as meals and sleep.”

Erwin held up a hand. “Now, wait just a minute, Hanji. That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

The scientist blinked at him for a few beats before turning to observe Mikasa with a thoughtful expression. “Ah, yes, I suppose it is. Well, in that case, I’m willing to skip out on lunch, but I’m afraid this means one of us will need to accompany you when you shower and when you—”

“Absolutely not!” Mikasa bellowed. “And besides, I highly doubt the captain will be visiting me during _a shower.”_

“Ah, but you said yourself he surprised you in his room—what were you doing in there, again?”

“Dusting.”

“Ah, yes, dusting. So, how can you be sure he won’t accidentally drop in when you’re slightly less decent? _”_

 _“Enough,”_ Erwin barked, rising from his chair in one fluid motion, sending the room into silence.

Nerves were raw, not just his own—Hanji tended to prattle when she was anxious, and Ackerman’s fuse was shorter as of late. Still, now was not the time to fall apart under the stress.

Smoothing his thumb and forefinger across his brows, Erwin spoke again in a calmer tone. “Thank you, section commander, for updating me on your research into this phenomenon between Lieutenant Ackerman and Captain Levi—“

“The Ackerbond,” Hanji cut in. Mikasa made a sound somewhere between a sharp inhale and a groan.

“Pardon?”

“The Ackerbond. That’s what I’m calling it.”

“Right.”

“Armin thought of it, actually.”

“Of course.” Erwin took a moment to reclaim his train of thought, directing his full attention onto Mikasa. “Miss Ackerman, aside from this...bond...I’ve called you here today to discuss your role as lieutenant and all it entails.”

The young woman visibly straightened in her chair, dark eyes resolute. “Aye, commander.”

Erwin regarded the other two in the room, including them once more in the conversation. “As I have said before, the MPs have been spearheading the Redeemer investigation. Now that we know there is a correlation between them and the missing children, the operation has grown more complex.”

What he didn’t add was that it had proven complex for the poorly organized Military Police from the get-go, and that the only reason why there was any forward progress at all was due to the Survey Corps’ involvement. Specifically, a certain captain’s reconnaissance.

“Thanks to the work of Captain Levi, Efran, and Lieutenant Ackerman, we now know the Redeemers are using the abandoned underground tunnels as their base. We just need to locate exactly where.”

Easier said than done. The tunnels were vast, and most were uncharted. Finding the base would be difficult enough, and if it weren’t for this bond between Mikasa and Levi—literally their only connection to the inside—their chances would be better trying to find a needle in a haystack.

“To be frank, no one aside from the decided few know about Captain Levi’s survival,” he added, voice careful. “And it will stay that way. However, I can no longer afford to coast along during this investigation and rely primarily on the Military Police. Thankfully—and perhaps in part to Levi’s funeral—the Survey Corps’ contributions to this investigation have not gone unnoticed. In short, we now have our foot in the door.”

More like _complete_ control. It had been a constant arm-wrestle with Nile, but at least the man had swallowed his pride enough to see the severity of the situation.

“Mikasa, I’m pleased with the swiftness of your recovery. However, considering the fact you aren’t fully healed, returning to the field is out of the question.” The girl opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand again. “You have yet to master this bond, and I’d hate to think of what would happen if you were to suddenly zone out on the field surrounded by Titans.”

Ackerman had always been a champion at wrangling her emotions, but even she couldn’t mask the look of blatant disappointment that flitted across her face. Erwin pressed on.

“So, lieutenant, I’m assigning you to the task of overseeing a group of special-grade cadets that have just graduated. Not only were they top of the class, but they’ve shown remarkable promise as soldiers in action. It’s not field work, I know, and they’re still very green, but I want them to learn from the best.”

History had a funny way of repeating itself, and it didn’t seem that long ago that he’d assigned Levi a similar task of training a handful of promising newcomers.

“You will divide your time between training the recruits and mastering this bond, reporting directly into Hanji or Armin your findings.” He looked to the scientist then, who had since collapsed down into the chair next to Mikasa’s. “While that does not mean Lieutenant Ackerman requires strict supervision, any attempts to initiate the bond with Captain Levi should always be done so when either you or Arlert are present.”

A grin began to work its way across Hanji’s face, her glasses catching the light streaming through the window and reflecting back at him. “Understood, commander.”

Mikasa nodded as well. “Understood.”

Erwin looked past them to the silent figure leaning against the far wall. “Sending you back to the Underground to continue where Levi and Mikasa left off is also out of the question. It’s probable a few Redeemers survived that day, and no doubt they’ve seen your face. For the time being, you will remain here and assist Miss Ackerman with training the cadets. You’ve proven your skill and competency, so I don’t doubt you’ll be able to provide valuable insight.”

Efran emerged from the shadowed corner of the room, stepping up beside Hanji’s chair. “Aye, as you wish.” There were no formalities to his address, but his tone was respectful, eyes sincere.

“Excellent. Thank you, Efran, that will be all.”

The man inclined his head forward, affording a proper view of the compass tattoo on his scalp, and tapped his finger against his temple. His form of a salute, apparently. He moved like a shadow across the room, the door virtually silent as it closed behind him.

“Now, Hanji, Mikasa, there is crucial information I need imparted to Captain Levi. As well, I require details on his current location and anything else about the Redeemers that could aid us in his rescue and their defeat.”

Mikasa’s hands twisted in her lap—the only indicator of her anxiety. “You haven’t found out anything on this Red Woman I told you about?”

Yet another moving piece of the puzzle, and another contributor to Erwin’s headache. “I have multiple sources scattered in key points within the walls, but none have yielded results. This is our only shot at getting any information.” He paused, battling his pride and shoving it back down into that place where he kept his other emotions in check. “I’m forced to admit that I’ve underestimated these people. They are obviously better assembled than I’d initially given them credit for. As much as I want to see the safe return of Captain Levi, we can’t ignore the advantage that having a man on the inside affords us. And then there’s you, Mikasa. You can gather intel without being detected yourself.”

Hanji leaned forward in her chair, no longer able to keep her enthusiasm to herself. “She’s the perfect spy. They can’t see her.”

Mikasa stood abruptly then, turning her back and stepping away from the desk. At first Erwin thought she was going to walk out of the room. She paused, however, dark head bent forward in deep contemplation. He let her have her moment, forgiving the sudden outburst, as it was so out of character for the young woman.

Finally, she turned halfway and stared at Erwin with one onyx eye. “Why us? Forgive me, commander, but I must know. When you needed someone to join Heichou on that mission all those weeks ago, I can understand why you picked me. In theory. But why us _together?”_ She approached the desk again, dark hair brushing against her shoulders as she advanced. “We could have compromised the mission. We’re... _volatile_.”

Erwin would have called her out for questioning his decisions in this manner—and he could sense Hanji stiffen in anticipation—but her question made him pause. The look in her eyes was so raw, so vulnerable—desperate, even—and he caught a glimpse of just how frightened she truly was.

“Perhaps,” he said softly, nodding in agreement, but he didn’t elaborate.

There was some truth to her statement. Erwin had always attributed Mikasa’s feelings for Eren Jaeger to be the catalyst behind her caustic relationship with the captain, but as the girl grew older and the events that happened at the courtroom all those years ago faded into memory, he began to question that logic.

And formed a new one. But it was a hunch, nothing more.

“Perhaps,” he said again, content to be vague, “but you didn’t compromise the mission, did you? If anything, we’d be in a lot worse shape now had this bond not occured. Believe me, I don’t make decisions lightly, and I wouldn’t have made this one if I’d thought it unsound. I sent you down there together because you two were the best for the job. I really couldn’t care less about how little you like each other as long as you get the job done.”

There was a warning at the end, and Mikasa had the foresight not to argue further. Her head dipped forward in contrition, dark hair falling across her eyes.

Erwin quickly recovered his role of commander, voice firm once more. “Now, if that concludes this line of questioning, I would like to move forward.” He didn’t wait for a response. It wasn’t a request. “If your current state permits it, I want you to try and initiate the bond with Captain Levi.”

He could see Hanji’s head snap to attention in his periphery, her glasses catching the light again. Mikasa’s own gaze lifted again to meet his, confusion etched across her features. “...now, Sir?”

Erwin leaned back into his chair, spreading his hands out, palms up. “I don’t see why not. This is as good a place as any. You can take as much time as you need. I understand it’s not fully under your command yet, so I’m not expecting you to get it on the first few tries.”

Erwin hoped this offered her reassurance, aware that the added pressure of an audience outside of Hanji and Arlert might introduce some performance anxiety for the girl. But Erwin had yet to see this process for himself.

Mikasa exchanged a glance with Hanji, the latter offering a gentle smile. She inhaled deeply, collected herself, and came back to her chair.

“Excellent. Now, here’s what you’re going to tell the captain.”

 

* * *

 

Levi was looking at her.

It took Mikasa a moment to register his eyes in the shadows, but dark fringe parted when he inclined his head and two pairs of alloy glinted back at her. For a short time, neither of them spoke.

He looked away from her then, eyes flicking to the side in a casual manner. He had an uncanny way of doing that, of making even the most minute actions seem unaffected. Still, there was a palpable charge to the air. He dragged a hand through his hair, and something on his wrist caught the light when he moved—he was cuffed again. Not to the wall, thankfully, but still cuffed. This cell was different. Bigger.

She made a quick perusal of the new space and was relieved to see that it was much more spacious than the previous one. Levi sat upon a cot—small and thin, but clean. Perhaps not to his standards, but there were no glaring stains or blemishes. There was also a low stool in the corner with a cup and plate stacked neatly on top—remnants of a meal.

At least they were feeding him. Still, the upgrades in accommodation hardly made up for the iron bars.

She felt disoriented in the low light, having just been in Erwin’s bright office only a moment ago with the windows open to the morning sun. Initiating the connection—or, _Ackerbond,_ as Hanji was fond of calling it—had gone smoother than she’d anticipated. It had been difficult to focus at first under the commander’s penetrating, azure gaze, but that odd, feathery sensation in the back of her head seemed to be getting easier to locate and grasp each time she attempted to reach for it.

“Levi,” she said.

His brow creased just the slightest as if he were thinking about how best to respond. Or, rather, like he had something to say but didn’t know how to phrase it. Then he turned his head to regard her, expression blanking, and that familiar wall was up, separating her from his mind. “Did you dust my room yet?”

Mikasa wasn’t as successful at hiding her emotions, and no doubt he could see the irritation flutter across her face. And, if she was honest with herself, she felt embarrassed.

The events of last night were a little foggy, her regret for what she could have said or done in such a compromised state only adding to her headache the morning after. One thing she did remember, with blinding clarity, was how his hand had felt against her wrist, then against her neck, fingers bound in her hair—a mimicry of the tether bonding them together. It had spoken to something deep within her, stirred something...confusing.

The drink had fogged her inhibition, loosened her tongue. She’d become emotional. Mikasa had learned from experience that some things couldn’t be covered up again once they’d been dragged out into the light. She felt exposed, caught on her off-foot.

She liked the game in her favor, and it was now decidedly in his.

“Afraid not,” was her curt reply. She knew better than to rise to his provocation, but he seemed to insist upon turning every interaction into a battle, regardless of how willing she was to be civil.

“Suppose I should have you do laps around my _dark little room?”_

Was he mocking her? Yes, yes he was, he was mocking her. Irritation swelled to anger, and Mikasa fought hard to wrangle that particular beast. “This one’s certainly an improvement from the last one,” she bit.

Levi scoffed. “Yes, it’s a luxury. They expect me to shit in a corner bucket.”

She grimaced at his crass mouth. He was pushing her away, erasing all trace of the night before.

Perhaps he found her actions embarrassing as well. She felt very foolish then. A girl, a stupid girl, and that’s no doubt what he saw—the fumblings of an awkward child. The memory of how she’d asked him as much, his opinion of her, hit Mikasa square in the gut, and she very nearly groaned. She had wanted to know, hadn’t she? And why did it matter...

“Mikasa.” She had zoned out, caught up in her thoughts, and he was watching her again.

She stood from her place on the cold floor, crossing to the iron bars to escape his scrutiny. Anger, yes that was easier to manage. Childish, yes. But so was she, apparently.

“The Survey Corps are now in control over the Redeemer investigation. Erwin pulled some strings. We won’t have to deal with the MPs as much anymore, so that should make getting you out easier.” Spoken like a soldier—direct. Because that too, like anger, was easier.

“I meant what I said last night,” he began, and she didn’t turn to look at him. Didn’t need to. There wouldn’t be anything there on his face for to read.

“I know you did, and so did I. You don’t need to play the martyr, though. Erwin basically said himself that he intends to use this situation...this...bond...to his advantage. He’s right, I guess. Hanji even called me the perfect spy.” She continued to rattle off the events of the morning in Erwin’s office while surveying the hallway beyond the cell. He was silent beside her. She could feel his eyes burning into her form.

“I was talking about the book, brat,” he murmured after she’d finished speaking. She did turn to look at him then.

His expression, as expected, was inscrutable. She should apologize, she really should. For last night and for a lot of other things. But her pride—or her stubborn head, or some other vice she clung to—held the words in check.

“Oh,” was her reply.

She didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t following the rules. She’d just given him a report, relayed orders from their superior, and he was supposed to respond in kind. Act in kind. Act like the captain.

Instead, he merely regarded her with that gunmetal gaze, searching her face.

And then lower.

Mikasa refused to cower beneath his stare, but her skin tingled with gooseflesh as his eyes perused her form—down her neck, over her bandaged arm, lower still, before eventually flicking back up to her face. The chains on his cuffs rattled as he rose from his seated position, never breaking eye contact. She remained rooted to the spot.

He stood there for a moment, the charge in the room utterly stifling. Only when he made to step toward her—the action unrushed, deliberate—did she open her mouth to speak.

A tuneless whistle floated down the hall, the sound eerily familiar.

Both of them stiffened, a new tension in the air. Mikasa cornered her gaze to the sound, and Levi raised a finger to his mouth, tapping gently against his lips. He turned just as the jailor came into view of the cell, his sweaty face shining underneath the torchlight as he peered through the bars.

“It’s your lucky day, Black Dog.” The large man chuckled to himself, digging through the mass of keys at his hip until he found the right one. “Your request was approved.”

The door opened with a whine and the guard stepped back, waiting. Levi didn’t move.

“I don’t got all day, asshole.”

Levi turned his back to both Mikasa and the jailor, going back to his seat on the cot before saying, “the girl.” He jerked a thumb toward the cell across from his, the chains on his cuffs rattling with the movement.

“What about her?”

“She was part of the agreement.”

Mikasa craned to look around the guard, searching the cell for said girl. He meant Dennard, she knew it. Her eyes couldn’t make anything out in the poor light.

“Don’t be thinkin’ you call the shots here, you little prick. Either get off your ass while I still got the patience to entertain your little field trip, or stay put and stop wasting my—“

“I’m going to make an educated guess here and say that Rikard has _ordered_ you to take both me _and_ the girl,” Levi monotoned, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. A casual posture. “I wonder how he’ll take it if he finds out you disobeyed a direct order.”

Even backlit, Mikasa could see the angry flush envelope the jailor’s meaty face. He looked like an enraged bull, and she half expected him to start pawing at the earth with his foot.

“ _The_ _girl,_ ” Levi enunciated.

The bull chuffed and snorted for several seconds before finally turning around and lumbering over to the other cell, mumbling curses under his breath.

Mikasa cornered her gaze to Levi, and was surprised to see him already looking at her. He clearly had something he wanted to say.

“Were you planning on telling me about this _bargain?”_ she said, jerking her chin to the jailor across the way. Then, to herself, “and now you can’t talk.”

The guard loomed in the doorway once more, this time with Dennard beside him, wrists cuffed. The size disparity between the two of them was almost laughable—Dennard, already small for her age, looked absolutely miniscule next to the large man.

“Alright, Dog. Here’s the girl. Now get up.”

Levi took his time in rising from the cot and crossing to the door, clearly wanting to draw out the warden’s patience. Mikasa followed close behind him, narrowly dodging clear of the barred door as the jailor slammed it shut.

Dennard and Levi walked shoulder to shoulder—their cuffs linked together by another length of chain—the guard tailing behind them like some great bear on its hind legs. Mikasa followed the trio on silent feet, taking the opportunity to observe the Redeemer’s encampment. Erwin would want to know their system, how they organized themselves and how _well_ they did it. What kind of weapons did they have and how many? Was there a clear demonstration of rank? Training?

Mikasa found, to her disappointment, that the Redeemers were _exceedingly_ efficient. This was no ragtag group of rebels, but a systematic network of competent individuals; what they lacked in firepower or numbers they made up for in discipline, and there wasn’t a person there who didn’t appear to have a task.

Even the corpulent jailor took to his job with a dogged determination.

What was perhaps more impressive—and Mikasa hated to admit that she was, indeed, impressed—was how the Redeemers had managed to make their sprawling bivouac from the natural infrastructure of the Underground.

The encampment as a whole was spartan—several rows of tents made up the barracks, and a few, crudely-constructed stalls housed weapons. Mikasa didn’t spy any ODM gear, which reassured her some, and while there were a few rifles lined up in the stalls, the majority of the weapons appeared to be various types of blades.

Mikasa recognized the ring she’d seen Levi fighting in, but the powder-fine dirt was the only indicator of its purpose; without the rope surrounding its perimeter, or the throngs of rabid onlookers, the space resembled an ordinary sparring ground. Indeed, about a dozen or so Redeemers were already gathered there, covering drills and maneuvers that were... _very_ specific.

Yes, they more than made up for lack of firepower. These people could _fight._

The jailor steered away from the main bustle of the camp, leading them through a stone underpass. The terrain here was different from the subterranean city she and Levi had spent all those weeks together in; the walls were smooth, not craggy, worn away over time by water, and rose to meet arched ceilings that tapered in several places to form insidious-looking stalactites.

If one of them should fall...

The stone was beautiful, in a cold, barren way, reminding Mikasa of a cathedral. It hit her then that this place wasn’t an encampment—the Redeemers, with their clothes of red and tireless dedication to their cause, had made it their _monastery._

“Stop here,” the guard commanded, reaching out to yank on the chain tethering Levi and Dennard to each other. They’d stopped before a jagged division in the rock wall, a sort of entranceway into a larger chamber. Mikasa attempted to sidestep around the brute to get a better view, but his form was too large and blocked the majority of the opening.

There wasn’t another Redeemer in sight here. They were alone.

She was growing impatient, and not just with the broad jailor; she found Levi’s timing, or lack thereof, frustrating. He couldn’t speak to her, so now she was forced to surmise the situation for herself. If Levi had bargained for a trip around the camp and a break from the cell—a clever idea if he had known she would show up—then what had he promised Rikard in return?

“You have ten minutes,” the jailor announced once he’d rid Dennard and Levi of their cuffs, shooing them forward like one would a pair of stray dogs.

Levi glared, mouth twisting as he growled, “fifteen, the agreement was fifteen.”

The jailor, apparently no longer cowed by Levi’s earlier warning, only sneered in return. “ _Nine_ and a half and counting.”

Levi’s expression was so supremely vicious that for a terrible moment Mikasa worried he was going to lunge at the man. But he only turned his head, dark fringe obscuring the steely glint in his eye.

The guard’s smirk grew, utterly pleased with himself. “Oh, and Rikard’s _orders_ were to shoot you dead if you got any funny ideas, so don’t try nothin’, ya hear?”

There would be nowhere to run, anyway. The rock was a prison.

Mikasa finally managed to slip past the large man and into the chamber. The sonic disparity between here and the space outside was drastic; the slightest sound or drip of moisture reverberated without decay up the high walls and across the vast ceiling of the cavern. She had never been in such a place and stood, for a moment, transfixed.

“Go on, then.” The guard shooed them again with a meaty hand.

Levi grumbled an unintelligible sound to Dennard before turning on his heel. The girl scurried after him, Mikasa once again taking up the rear.

“Levi?” It was Dennard who spoke, but Levi’s head whipped back to look at Mikasa. He recovered quickly, eyes darting down to the small girl. “Why are we here?”

Levi didn’t answer, just kept walking, gaze forward again. It was even dimmer inside the cavern, the only source of light coming from the lanterns back at the main camp. Levi and Dennard appeared to be having an easier time navigating the uneven terrain than Mikasa, and she supposed their eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom.

“Watch out for the smaller stalagmite,” Levi said, although most likely for Mikasa’s benefit. “It’s just around here.”

He halted beside a large outcropping of rock, waiting for Dennard and Mikasa to catch up before rounding the corner.

The sight made both Dennard and Mikasa gasp.

High above them, a large cleft split a section of the rock ceiling, exposing a sliver of the noonday sky. The sun was hidden behind clumps of cumulus clouds, but the day was bright and clear—a shining gem of blue revealed beyond the prison of stone.

Mikasa spun to look at Levi, an awareness of what he might be doing suddenly dawning on her. He stared back at her for a brief moment before motioning a stunned Dennard to follow him.

“Is...is that…?” The girl’s voice was small, eyes round with wonder. She remained rooted to the spot despite his gesturing.

Levi didn’t answer, merely nodded, and walked toward the opening in the ceiling until he stood directly beneath it. Dennard looked at him and then up at the cleft, regarding it with uncertainty.

“Ever seen the sky before, Dennard?” Levi murmured, voice gentle yet resonant in the cavern.

The girl shook her head, still watching the sky.

Levi beckoned her forward again with a jerk of his head. “C’mon. Perfectly safe. The sun is just behind the clouds.” His eyes drifted past the awestruck child and rested on Mikasa. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”

Mikasa stepped back involuntarily, blinking at him, but he gave another motion of his head, the movement entirely for her this time. She joined him beneath the skylight, their eyes meeting again.

“You could have bargained for a bath,” she whispered. He looked away.

Dennard finally approached, stepping beneath the cleft just as the clouds drifted apart, revealing the sun.

She blinked madly against the sudden brightness, hand coming up to shield her eyes. She looked so completely awe-struck in that moment, so enraptured, the narrow crescent of light encircling her like some holy vision one of those wall-wailers preached about. Mikasa half expected her to fall to her knees.

Mouth parted in a little _oh,_ Dennard’seyes brimmed with tears as she took in the bath of light surrounding her.“So this is what it’s like,” she breathed, arms slightly extended out from her person like a wilted flower coming back to life.

She turned her head in a jerky movement—as if the act of looking away from the light was painful—and her eyes found Levi’s. Mikasa could see him visibly start at the naked look of pure joy on the girl’s face, and she felt her own emotion tighten her throat.

“No,” Levi whispered, his voice unrecognizable. “It’s not the same.”

Dennard’s eyes widened even further, a look of delight tempered by despair overtaking her features and making her look _so very young._

An odd sound escaped Levi then, snatching Mikasa’s attention back to him. He had _chuckled_. And he was _smiling._ It was small, just a quirk in the corner of his mouth, but it was there.

Something curious and strange rattled in Mikasa’s chest and in her belly, dancing off her skin, gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Levi and Dennard turned their faces back to the sky without another word, and the image was so serene, so _intimate,_ that Mikasa almost felt like she was intruding.

It was over too quickly.

The heavy pound of footsteps echoed off the stone path behind them, the sound of rattling keys making Mikasa’s heart sink.

“Alright, you’ve had your moment,” came the gruff voice of the guard, “time to get movin’.”

Another pair of footsteps, much lighter, echoed down the path, and a familiar figure came into view.

Rikard came to a stop beside the jailor, his green eyes sweeping the scene before him. “Your turn, Ackerman,” he said.

The guard made a curt motion with his hand, urging Dennard to come forward. The girl balked, looking up at Levi with uncertainty.

“Come on, girl. I won’t have a repeat performance of last time,” the guard snapped, gesturing again. “Let’s go.”

Levi pressed his fingers against the girl’s shoulder blade, urging her forward with a gentle touch. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at him and was offered a subtle nod of encouragement.

“Where is he taking her?” Mikasa wondered aloud, though she knew Levi couldn’t answer her.

She watched as the elfin Dennard was escorted away by the Redeemer, her stomach twisting in dread. She wondered once again what they could want with a girl like her. Several possibilities ran through her head. Not one of them pleasant.

Rikard watched the pair leave before turning back to Levi. “Didn’t know you had such a bleeding heart, Ackerman.”

“You don’t know a thing about me,” Levi growled, lip twitching.

Rikard’s throaty chuckle reverberated against the stone walls like distant thunder. “Oh, that’s fine. I don’t like you much either.”

A cloud passed across the sun above, the cavern darkening once again. Rikard’s face sobered.

“I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. Now, tell me what I need to know about Mikasa Ackerman.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;dr: Erwin is hell bent on killing bad guys. Ackerbond eye sex happens. Levi actually really likes kids and basically wants to protect Dennard because he's a softie deep down. Mikasa has NO SENSE OF FLIRTING and misses sooo many cues. Rikard wants to know about Mikasa Ackerman. More to come soon...


	11. Ramble On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never, ever, ever sneak up on an unsuspecting Mikasa...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for the amazing words of support and for the great insight. You guys are the best. Yay! Fast update!

_He recognized the voices drifting in through the window. They belonged to the same MP outfit that had been loitering around this side of the city for the past week now. Four men, usually drunk. Always mean._

_There was a fifth voice he did not recognize, however, and the words were too quiet to make out. Some poor fucker was on the receiving end of a soldier’s boredom._

_The blacksmith’s son kept his eyes on his work, tuning out the argument happening just around the side of the shop. These blades needed to be sharpened by tonight. He couldn’t afford any distraction._

_The sound of a fist, a grunt._

_Well, shit. There went his afternoon._

_He removed his leather apron and draped it over the whetstone. He really shouldn’t get involved—_ _he was too old for the belt at this point, but he didn’t think the old man would be too happy about him causing trouble. But they were so close to the shop…_

_“Hold ‘im down, Carter. Imma knock this rat’s teeth in,” one of the soldiers said._

_Another blow. A chorus of laughter from the MPs._

_Indeed, it was the same four he’d seen around. It was almost comical the way their heads snapped up to take in his presence. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was big—only sixteen and already built like a man._

_“You’re scaring the customers,” he said, and he knew he sounded like his father. The thought both pleased and irritated him._

_A ruddy-faced man, probably the leader, stepped forward, his expression all haughty arrogance. “Customers?” He turned to his companions in a theatrical display of bewilderment. “I don’t see any customers! Are they, perhaps, invisible?”_

_More laughter._

_The young blacksmith could feel his temper rising, but he tempered his tongue. The leader sobered, his face morphing into an ugly sneer as he sauntered forward, halting when he was nearly nose to nose with the young man._

_“Pick your battles, boy. Don’t choose ones you can’t win.” His breath was stale, fanning over the young man’s face like a putrid furnace blast._

_“Alright, I won’t.”_

_The ruddy man went down easily with an elbow to the gut and another to the back of the head. The remaining three soldiers just stood there, momentarily stunned by the quick disposal of their leader._

_He spotted the owner of the fifth voice—a boy, no younger than himself, yet different in almost every way. He was short and compact, made for bursts of speed; dark-haired where the blacksmith’s boy was fair. His nose was busted, bleeding freely, but his steel eyes held no pain or distress. Only rage._

_He could fight, too._

_The remaining three men had barely recovered from their surprise when the boy was up off the ground and attacking. He was like a cat, quick and crouching._

_The two of them together quickly overwhelmed the remaining MPs, and the soldiers were finally forced to gather their fallen comrade and flee._

_“You’re gonna get in trouble for this,” the boy spoke after they’d recovered their breath. His voice wasn’t what he’d expected—rather deep and careful for someone so young._

_“Aye, probably.” He could only smile. “But they were scaring my invisible customers.”_

_The boy cracked the barest smirk—an odd expression on his face, as if he hadn’t done it a while and had therefore forgotten how. They shook hands._

_“Name’s Levi.”_

_“Efran.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do you have so many tattoos?”

Efran couldn’t help but chuckle. Out of the four special-grade cadets he was helping Mikasa train, Anthony Kraus was by far his favorite. The boy _always_ asked questions.

While he may have found this fact endearing, he knew it got on Ackerman’s last nerve. The woman was already in a mood, and each little inquiry from the blond boy seemed to be pecking at her resolve.

Efran had successfully managed to steer Anthony’s line of questioning away from the irritable lieutenant and toward himself, but that didn’t seem to make much of a difference. At this point, it seemed she couldn’t even look at him.

“Does he ever shut up? Can’t he use context instead of jabbering all the time?” She groaned while the four trainees were busy running 3DMG drills.

“He actually reminds me of myself at that age,” Efran replied, not even attempting to hide his amusement.

Mikasa looked between him and the fair-haired cadet, utterly bewildered. “There’s no way...and here I thought you came out already bald and inked.”

Efran bellowed with laughter, earning some confused glances from the recruits. “Well, I _was_ bald.”

She crossed her arms, unamused, continuing to glare at her students. They caught sight of her watching them and hastened to resume their training.

“He’s beginning to rub off on you, I think.” He watched her profile closely.

She scoffed as she observed Kraus fumbling with the straps of his gear. “I’m this close to making him run laps.”

“I meant Levi.”

Her head snapped to look at him, dark eyes ablaze with indignation. She managed not to fumble too much, yet she couldn’t hide the flush on her cheeks. “I am _nothing_ like him.”

She fled then, calling the recruits to her and having them assemble on the sparring mat. Efran had to demonstrate the moves, as she was still injured, and he could tell her lack of mobility only piqued her further.

But these were only subsidiary aggravators, he knew—Anthony Kraus, her injuries, these weren’t the main source of her frustration.

Of course she could see the logic in Levi’s plan. Mikasa was as intelligent as she was fiery. Perhaps it was the method in which he’d gone about executing it that she took exception to. It was her pride that was injured, after all, not her feelings.

A woman like Mikasa Ackerman did not take kindly to being used, even if she could clearly see it was for the greater good. To deceive her was to lose her trust, and that was a very dangerous place to be indeed.

Erwin Smith had called yet another meeting last night, this time with both Hanji and Armin Arlert present, and Mikasa had relayed the information she’d gathered from her visit with Levi.

This Rikard fellow, the devil who’d rigged the bomb that day in the cave, was a cunning bastard. Efran could admire a well-executed shakedown or ploy, even if it wasn’t in his favor, and Rikard clearly thought the game was in his.

And there lay the cleverness behind Levi’s strategy; a trick up the sleeve, a game of Three-card Monte. Because as soon as Rikard figured things out it would be too late.

Levi had always been clever, Efran never doubted it, but this level of _strategy_ was a side of his friend he’d never seen before. It spoke to Levi’s relationship with Commander Smith, as well, that he’d trust in the man’s intuition to assemble the pieces of the plan and execute it.

“Lieutenant Ackerman?” Kraus had actually _raised his hand_ , and Efran could see the look of annoyance on Mikasa’s face deepen.

“What.”

The question turned out to be a fairly legitimate one, at least in Efran’s book. But Mikasa’s brow had reached a dangerous crease level, so he stepped in before blood could be spilled, suggesting that they call it a day and resume tomorrow morning. Mikasa muttered a bland “thanks” to him before disappearing somewhere.

“This isn’t like her.” Hanji said later that evening over dinner. She was absently playing with her soup, ladling the broth with her spoon and tipping it back into the bowl, brow furrowed as she repeated the process over and over. “I mean, she’s always been quick to fire, but I can’t imagine why she’d take this so personally. It’s not like her to be this immature.”

Efran couldn’t help but chuckle. “Perhaps it’s not the plan that has her upset.”

Hanji looked momentarily confused, but the wheels were turning in her head. A smile began to dawn on her face. “Volatile, indeed.”

They ate in silence then, periodically chuckling to themselves, which eventually caught the attention of Armin as he sat down beside Hanji.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

This seemed to break whatever resolve Hanji had maintained up until that point, and the woman threw her head back and howled with laughter. Arlert looked between her and Efran, face a mixture of confusion and mild alarm.

“It’s alright, lad,” Efran chortled. “I was just telling Hanji more about Levi’s _stunning_ singing abilities.”

The scientist nearly fell off her chair, clutching her stomach as tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. Armin shook his head and focused on his own meal, not even bothering to figure out the situation.

“Armin, have you seen Mikasa recently?” Hanji finally wheezed after her laughter had subsided, dabbing at her eyes.

The young man nodded, swallowing his food before saying, “I saw her a few minutes ago. I think she was headed to the sparring room. She seemed to be in a mood.”

“Yeah, she was like that this morning, too.” Efran added, kicking Hanji under the table when the woman began to chuckle again.

“Should I...go check on her?” Armin asked, glancing between the two of them.

Efran shook his head, placing his napkin next to his now empty bowl. “No need.” He rose from the table, tray in hand. “I’ll go. Make sure she isn’t training too aggressively with that arm of hers.” He bid them both goodnight and left to dispose of his dishes.

Sure enough, there was a faint glow of lantern light emanating from underneath the door of the training room. Efran didn’t really know what he was going to say, and was partly worried about overstepping and aggravating her further. He most likely would let her do the talking and only provide an ear—

He halted in the middle of the corridor, ears straining. Mikasa’s voice was faint, barely discernible over the chorusing keen of crickets and other night creatures that emanated from the open windows, but it sounded like she was talking to someone inside. She sounded angry.

“Forgive my interruption,” he began, slowly opening the wooden door. “I just wanted to…”

Mikasa was standing in the middle of one of the padded mats, her eyes widening with surprise. Efran paused in the entranceway and scanned the space. She was alone.

“Uh…I can come back…” he muttered.

Mikasa huffed and swiped her hand through the air in a bizarre manner, as if she were brushing away a gnat. “No, no, sorry, I was…”

Realization hit him then like a slap in the face, and Efran suddenly wished Hanji were there to witness the moment. “Oh, no, please,” he said with a smile. “I just wanted to check on you. I’m turning in for the night.”

Mikasa seemed to relax some, but still fidgeted uncomfortably—tucking and untucking her hair from behind her ears and messing with the wrapping of her splint. “Oh. Well, thank you. I’ll be better tomorrow,” she said, the cheeriness of her voice not matching her expression.

Efran smiled and made to leave. “Goodnight, then.” He paused halfway out the door before adding, “goodnight, Levi.”

 

* * *

  

Dennard’s cell was still empty. He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, how long he’d been sitting on this pathetic excuse for a bed just staring at the bars. Several hours at least. Most likely dark by now. Not that he could know for sure. He thought about the cave, about Dennard’s face when she’d witnessed the patch of blue on the ceiling.

_You could have bargained for a bath._

He smirked despite himself _._ When had she become so bold? No, the brat had always been that way. When had she become so _comfortable?_  Somewhere along the road, Mikasa had stopped speaking to him as her captain and more like…something else. He didn’t know.

And he didn’t care. Which, he found, surprised him more than anything.

Perhaps it was spending time in someone else’s head for so long that blurred the lines. His mind had always been a carefully constructed stronghold, fortified throughout the years to let nobody in and nothing out. Impenetrable.

And she’d kicked the front door down like it was nothing and made herself comfortable.

If he hadn’t been afforded the same opportunity, the chance to peer inside the fortress that was Mikasa Ackerman, he would have long ago lost his nerve. _This_ is what it meant to be insane; a parasite in his head, a nuisance he couldn’t see or control. And maybe he had thought her such at one point even before this whole bond started. _Gloomy brat._

Levi had never felt so simultaneously exposed and trapped. His mind was constricting, closing in like the walls of this cell, and yet he couldn’t hide a damn thing anymore. He had no doubt she would see it all, every last little imperfection and bit of darkness and filth, and she wouldn’t hesitate to strike him down. She could very well kill him.

So, really, it had been no small miracle that he’d been able to hide this _bargain_ from her.

_“Tell me what I need to know about Mikasa Ackerman.”_

And he did. In exchange for avoiding the fight ring and time out of the cell for _both_ him and Dennard, Levi told him about Mikasa Ackerman. Rather, he told Rikard how to get _close_ to her, all the while sneaking small glances at the woman in question, watching her face. He’d become familiar enough with her features to read the subtle changes of emotion, and her reaction to the scene went about how he thought it would—disbelief, confusion, and finally, a dawning realization before her face went impossibly blank.

He could play the part of two-faced dog rather well, he found. It made it easier to do when that’s what people expected of you. Rikard himself had expressed slight dubiety over his willingness to hand over such crucial information. Then again, the man had never seen him as the lance corporal of the Survey Corps, loyal servant to the crown and dutiful ass-kisser of Commander Erwin Smith. Levi had always been just Underground scum in his eyes. A rat clinging to the tailcoats of the men above ground, biding his time until bigger fish came along.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

But for every bit of information that Levi gave, Rikard let slip some of his own; he was confident in his position. Too confident. As far as he knew, he’d captured the most valuable piece from the enemy’s board and would soon have the game.

Little did he know, said piece had direct communication with headquarters, and it was standing right next to him.

It didn’t take much effort to pry the _how_ and _when_ out of Rikard. Like the role of traitorous pawn, he could also play dubious rather well.

_“So, what, you’re just going to sneak into Ackerman’s room in the middle of the night and steal her from her bed?”_

Rikard had seemed nothing short of _delighted_ that he would ask, and so willingly answered. Why wouldn’t he? What harm could it do to a game he thought he’d already won?

_“If what you say about Mikasa Ackerman is true, if she’s really so...formidable...then simply kidnapping her in her nightclothes won’t do. No, as I’ve said before, she’ll just have to come to us.”_

He was clearly going to leave it at that, but Levi still needed more information. And not just for himself.

_“If you’re planning on using me to lure the brat here, I’ll tell you now that it won’t work. Ackerman might have a hero-complex, but she’s not going to just swoop in and save my ass. Not me, of all people. In fact, you’ve probably done her a favor by locking me up here.”_

A _bit_ of an exaggeration, particularly at the expense of Mikasa, but he still saw her wince in this periphery. Nonetheless, it had been the right thing to say to get Rikard talking again. His smirk only grew _—_ he _definitely_ thought he was winning.

_“You wanna know the quickest way to get the attention from those big wigs up top? Just grab yourself a soap box and start preaching about Titans. You people might think you’ve had tabs on us this whole time, but I can guarantee you we’ve been two steps ahead. The whole reason why you’re down here is because you heard The Redeemers had a Titan-shifter in their midst, didn’t you? Well, who do you think started that little rumor, hmm?”_

Even now, hours later, the bite of deceit still stung. He’d been running around this whole time with his head up his ass. He didn’t have to feign surprise at the Redeemer’s words—Dennard was a Titan, this much they already knew, but he had assumed there was yet another shifter locked away somewhere. Rikard made it sound as if this wasn’t the case.

_We’ve been watching Humanity’s Strongest soldiers for a while now. In order to catch an Ackerman, we needed to give them a good reason to visit._

He still wished he could have asked about Dennard, about the missing children. He had planned on getting there, but he didn’t want to push his luck by seeming _too_ inquisitive. _So many loose ends._ Was it simply for the Redeemers to build themselves a military strong enough to take down the “men in power?” And did they really think he and Mikasa would turn so easily?

 _Rest assured, Levi, I_ will _get my second Ackerman. And she’s gonna walk right into my hands. We have more of our people in your ranks than you realize._

Even now, in his dark little cell, Levi could still clearly picture the change in Mikasa’s eyes as she began to slowly assimilate the situation. Her face had been impassive, but no doubt she had been formulating her report for Erwin up in that clever mind of hers. _The perfect spy._

By the time he had finished his little _tête-à-tête_ with Rikard, they had arrived at his cell. He _felt_ Mikasa leave more than saw her, and all he could do was hope that she wouldn’t despise him too much.

He had had no way of knowing she would show up when she did that morning, and had been fully prepared to gather all the information himself and pass it on to her the next time their bond initiated. Erwin’s timing was rather fortuitous, however, and it definitely made things easier to have her there. And he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he’d been…

What? _Pleased to see her?_

This connection was messing with him. True, he’d be a fool to think that his regard of the brat hadn’t changed. But to go so far as to consider himself... _attracted_ was…

Levi actually scoffed aloud, finally standing up from his cot and pacing around the cell, legs complaining after sitting for too long. At least Rikard had seen it in his good heart to forego the handcuffs.

_Insufferable shorty._

Yes, he could almost picture her saying that. The whole situation was awkward _—_ to be forced into such a compromising and _intimate_ position with another person would make anyone begin to question things. _Things?_ He was a fucking adult, not a snot-nosed brat. He needed to focus, get a grip.

_Who do you think you are?_

His fingers itched for a task, to scrub or fiddle or _clean._ It was too fucking dirty here, too much chaos and disorder. Had she dusted his room yet? He wanted a proper bath, not some scrub in a bucket.

_Get out of my head._

Levi carded both hands through his hair, desperately trying to calm the mounting panic, but the walls only got tighter and tighter.

_Get. Out._

He wanted to fight, to hit something, anything to unleash the pent up agitation. He missed the bags in the training rooms back at base almost as much as he missed a shower.

_Get. Out. Damn. Bastard._

Levi lurched to a stop mid stride, eyes going wide. That was _her_ voice he heard clear as day in his head. She was railing inside his mind—no, not in his mind. He heard just over there...

He spun around in the direction of her voice but was met with only the cold bars of his cell. The sound of an impact came from the left, confusing him further, and he spun again. That itch on his neck...

_Focus._

Levi closed his eyes, falling into the tug of their connection, holding fast to the sound of her angry breath.

He knew he’d made it before he’d even opened his eyes again. The air was different here—warmer against his skin, the space more open and less confined.

“I get it, you hate my rotten guts.”

It was a mistake to take a dog by surprise, Levi knew this. The same policy could be applied to Mikasa; he barely managed to duck out of the way and avoid whatever it was she’d hurled at his head. A quick glance behind him after the missile had passed revealed a throwing knife protruding from the far wall.

 _“Fuck_ _,_ woman,” he breathed, irritated more than surprised.

“That’s _twice_ now you’ve done that.” She jabbed her finger in his direction, practically snarling her words _._ “I get that you’ve gotten the hang of this whole bond thing like it’s the easiest damn thing in the world for you, but find a way to knock first or something so I don’t accidentally kill you.”

She turned on her heel and stomped across the room to the target board. He watched her go, stupefied, clutching to the annoyance he felt in his chest like it was a lifeline. He found its severity to be somewhat relieving, like a splash of cold water on his face.

“Did you tell Erwin everything?”

Her back straightened, bare arms stiffening as she halted her task of pulling knives from the target. “No, obviously I just kept incredibly valuable information to myself and didn’t bother briefing my commander.”

Levi rolled his eyes so hard it was nearly painful. He set off toward her, eyes boring a hole into her shoulder blades where they were exposed underneath her tank top. “Look, I get you’re _pissed,_ but that doesn’t give you the right to start acting like a child.”

 _That_ seemed to get her attention. She wheeled around to face him, and he halted a few feet before her, momentarily wondering if she was going to throw another blade at his head.

“You make _nothing_ easy, do you?”

“Tough shit, brat. _Nothing_ is easy.”

Mikasa dropped the knives to the side where they clattered against the stone floor like so much scrap metal. She was absolutely _livid,_ her left eye twitching as she approached him. “Do not patronize me, _captain.”_

There it was, her ability to make his title sound like a biting insult. He arched his brow at her, a look that he _knew_ irritated her. “Then don’t act like a child.”

“ _Fuck. You.”_

“Careful, cadet.”

In hindsight, he was most _definitely_ provoking her. But _fuck_ he wanted a fight. His blood was boiling and his head was twisted on so very wrong, and he just needed to wear himself out.

Even still, he wasn’t prepared when she attacked.

“It’s _lieutenant!”_ she yelled as she dove on him, knocking him flat onto one of the training mats, driving the air from his lungs. He came alive with that much needed kick of adrenaline, and he tossed her off of him with ease. Mikasa was fast, however, and he only just avoided her pounce by rolling away at the last second.

They both scrambled to their feet, already breathing hard, hands poised and ready to strike. He paused, stomach falling as he caught sight of her splint.

“You gonna fight me with a fucking broken arm?”

“I’ll fight you any way I want.”

She spun and aimed her foot at his head, which he avoided with ease—it was a warning strike. She ducked under his double cross, but he saw how she favored her arm as she rolled around him.

They continued this dance of dodging and striking, switching places around the mat, neither one making much headway but both losing wind—she was on defensive and he was…

He was going easy on her. He had _never_ done that.

“Ackerman, stop.” He tried to grab her good arm, but she whipped it away and landed a jab to his side. He cursed and attempted to grapple her again. “You’re injured.”

She muttered something through her teeth and tore away from him with a snarl.

_“Mikasa.”_

She threw her hands up in the air, turning her back to him as she crossed to the edge of the mat. Neither spoke, both winded.

Finally, she turned her head halfway, giving him her delicate profile. “Do you think me weak?” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper.

“I think you’re _injured,_ Mikasa.”

She huffed and turned to face him again, eyes wide and brow furrowed. “So? An eye for an eye. How long did you spend incapacitated due to my actions that day chasing the Female Titan?”

 _The hell?_ “That was, what, five years ago? That’s not how it works.”

“Not how _what_ works?” She was escalating again, approaching him with a desperate look in her eye.

“Do you think I’d kick your ass over something that happened that long ago? Especially when you’ve essentially got one arm tied behind your back?”

He expected her to respond with some haughty quip, to provoke him into resuming the fight, but she only said, “fight me.” At least it was a command, not a plea—he didn’t know what he’d do if her character snapped that drastically.

“No.”

She gritted her teeth, delivering a smack across his pectoral with her good hand. He barely felt it. “ _Fight me, goddammit!”_

She really was at a disadvantage—normally, a fight with Mikasa Ackerman would have had him on his toes. He always looked forward to those fights. But she had spent the past few weeks in recovery.

While he’d been brawling in an underground fight ring.

She gasped when he caught her by the shoulders, and first he thought it was because the action had surprised her, but then he heard the creak of a door.

“Uh…I can come back…” Efran stood at the entrance of the room, visibly disconcerted.

Mikasa brushed his grip from her shoulders with a wave of her hand and turned to address the tattooed man. “No, no, sorry, I was…”

Efran held up a reassuring hand, an odd smile overtaking his bearded face. “Oh, no, please. I just wanted to check on you. I’m turning in for the night.”

Mikasa fiddled with the wrappings of her splint. “Oh. Well, thank you. I’ll be better tomorrow.” Her voice was strained.

Efran nodded, smile still on his face. “Goodnight, then,” he said as he turned to leave. He halted halfway out the door, back still facing them. “goodnight, Levi.”

Levi’s eyebrows shot upward at the sound of his name, and he could almost hear Mikasa’s jaw unhinge as she gaped after the man. She continued staring after him with wide eyes even after he’d left.

Taking advantage of her distracted state, Levi grabbed her shoulders again and kicked out her legs with a sweep of his foot. She cried out and tried to protest, but he quickly had her down on the mat, his knee against her back. He was careful of her injured arm, however, holding it out to her side.

He waited to see if she would struggle. She didn’t, the fight apparently gone from her. “Look...I don’t know what you want me to say.” He kept his eyes on the top of his knee, unable to meet her rabid gaze from over her shoulder. “I…”

She was waiting, listening to what he was trying to spit out, her sides heaving as she took in air.

“I’m...sorry.”

Mikasa stilled beneath him, breath pausing. “ _What?”_

Fuck, he should have led with this. Shouldn’t have let it escalate to this point. He _knew_ she was injured, but he’d let his own anger cloud his judgment. “I’m sorry I...used you like that. I’ve turned you into a pawn, and I didn’t even tell you about it.”

He pulled his knee away from her back and released her arm, shifting so he was seated with his legs bent, resting his forearms across them. She adjusted beside him, turning herself onto her back but remaining recumbent. He could feel her dark eyes looking up at his face.

“I _know_ we’ve had our differences.” He wasn’t about to admit that he could, indeed, be difficult, because that was opening up a whole new dialogue about _her_ that he didn’t want to start. “But you and I were assigned a mission, and we...I…”

Shit, this was why he didn’t give fucking speeches.

He turned his head and looked down at her, eyes meeting her shoulder instead if her face. “The point is this; we were supposed to be partners. Partners have to trust each other, and I broke that trust.” He did meet her gaze then. “So, I’m sorry.”

Her hair had fallen out of its tie, the thick strands splaying about her head like some kind of ebony halo. Without thinking, he plucked a rogue tendril that clung to her sweat-dampened neck, his fingers grazing the soft skin there. A soft intake of breath made his eyes snap to hers. He almost wished he hadn’t looked.

“I wasn’t…” She swallowed thickly before starting again, voice stronger this time. “That’s not why I was angry.” She closed her eyes and scoffed, shaking her head a little.

He tucked the errant wisp behind her ear, fingers lingering against the shell and following the angle of her jaw. “Why then?”

“No wonder you thought me childish,” she murmured, avoiding his question. Her eyes opened again and found his. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest, once more lamenting that he’d allowed the situation to get out of hand.

“That’s not what I see,” he began, fingers hooking around the back of her neck as his thumb dragged down the underside of her chin, “when I look at you.”

He leaned forward and felt her entire body stiffen beneath him as he pressed his forehead against hers. She must have just washed her hair—he could smell her soap, the scent stronger now that her hair was free.

“I... _fuck,_ I missed fighting you,” he murmured, chuckling softly. He watched her pretty mouth crook slightly upwards. “You’re stronger than all of us, Mikasa,” he whispered, and he felt her breath hitch across his face, warm and sweet, a gentle gasp.

This happened last time—he’d held her like this with his hand tangled in her hair, faces close, the ever-present hum licking at the back of his neck. It was so odd, so foreign, like his veins were pumping ichor from his body and into hers and then back again.

“When I touch you…” Levi murmured, thinking out loud. He never spoke this much. He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point. The tip of her nose brushed against the side of his own as she angled her head back. He had closed his eyes. When had he done that? He was just _feeling._

“I never blamed you.” Her voice was everywhere, surrounding him.

He had lowered himself beside her at some point, no longer sitting, his upper body hovering above her own as he framed her head with his forearms, chest barely touching hers.

“And you didn’t lose my trust, Levi. I still mean what I said. I’m not leaving you down there.”

Levi hesitated, pulling away slightly to look at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes somnolent as she stared back at him. Something absolutely terrifying twisted in his chest.

And made him sit up.

“Levi?” Her brow knitted in confusion, and she pushed herself up to her elbows. He’d be the biggest fucking liar there ever was if he said he didn’t like the way his name sounded on her tongue.

“Promise me something,” he said, looking away from her. She didn’t answer, but he continued anyway. “Promise me, no matter what, that you’ll get the kid out first.”

“Levi—“

“Just listen,” he interrupted, but his voice was gentle. “I don’t know what they want with her, but it can’t be a coincidence that she’s a Titan-shifter.” He found her eyes again, gaze earnest. “It’s not just for the kid’s sake but for everyone’s. We can’t let them turn her into a weapon. In the end, I’m expendable, I can—“

Mikasa pushed herself to standing, moving away from him like he’d suddenly caught fire. “Don’t say things like that.” Her voice was uneven, angry.

Levi stood as well. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I _need_ you to promise me.”

She glared at him, her expression the same one she wore on the battlefield. So different from the gentle one from but a moment ago.

“Why are you saying this right now?” She strode toward him, closing the gap. “Why are you—“ Her words died when he took a step away from her. She looked startled by his actions.

He wanted to go to her, pull her to him and inhale, but he could already feel himself slipping down that dangerous slope, one which would be impossible to climb back out of.

“Get the girl out. Don’t go to extra lengths.” _Don’t do something foolish._

She regarded him for several moments, her eyes searching his face, jaw tense. Finally, the emotion faded from her features, and that unconquerable wall rose in its place—like a droplet rippling across the face of water, smoothing out its surface.

“Aye, captain.” Her voice was steady too, but he still lamented the use of his title. “I promise.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He cut the connection.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep *hides*  
> So who wants my hide for ending it like this?? Sorry. More to come though.


	12. Heartbreaker

****Dennard stumbled upon weary legs, the jailor’s hand gripping tighter around her arm and hauling her forward.

“Watch it, you little shit.”

The thin fabric of her shoes was no match for the brutal rock terrain, and she winced as she trekked across a patch of sharp stones. She might as well be barefoot at this point.

They rounded a corner, and she stared down the familiar hall of cells, most of which were empty. She craned her head to look into Levi’s cell, checking to see if he was there.

“Damn dog sleeps like the dead,” groused the jailor.

Dennard could just make out the shape of Levi’s back in the dark. He was lying on his cot, apparently asleep. She knew better.

The jailor unlocked and opened the cell before shoving her inside, sending her sprawling across the dirty floor. The sound of his laughter echoed all the way down the hall as he retreated, keys jangling in time with his steps.

“Levi,” she whispered into the gloom, crawling forward on hands and knees to press her face against the bars. He didn’t respond. He’d asked her to throw a cup at him once–to break the “connection,” as he’d called it. That hadn’t worked. When he got like this he might as well be dead. At least he had the presence of mind to appear as if he were asleep so the guard wouldn’t see the strange blankness of his eyes.

She would just have to wait.

Images of the vision she’d had kept flashing across her mind, making her shiver. Perhaps it was best that Levi wasn’t conscious yet. It gave her more time to think on how she was going to tell him what she’d seen. The visions _always_ came true, she knew that now. And yet there was still a small part of her that _hoped_ for a different outcome.

The rope burns on her ankles and wrists were nearly gone now, and she rubbed at the abraded flesh gingerly. The lacerations on her arms were slower to heal, but she estimated they would disappear completely within a few hours.

_This is not torture, Dennard. I don’t want to torture you._

She hated him. She hated Rikard and his red hair and careful voice and intelligent, green eyes.

_Just give in, Dennard. Stop holding back._

Holding back what? She had wept openly, so he hadn’t been referring to her tears. He didn’t want information, and maybe that’s what made the whole thing worse; if he was torturing her for answers, she might have something to hold on to, cling to some kind of resolve or secret. But he wasn’t looking for anything, and she had nothing to hide.

_This is not torture._

What was it then?

_You’re strong. That’s both good and bad. It makes this whole process harder, drags it out. But if you’re too frail, you’ll break easily. Like that boy before you did. Remember? I told you about him…_

Someone else had been bound in rope and kept in the dark only to then be dragged into a pit and cut a thousand times. Over, over, and over. Did he heal as quickly as she did, that boy? Did he beg them to stop? Did he hate the green-eyed man as much as she?

_Don’t hold back._

She’d tried screaming and raging, cursing him, cursing the men who’d brought her here, yelling profanities she’d never considered uttering before. And she’d even tried denying him too; if he didn’t want her to hold back, then she wouldn’t give him what he desired. She wouldn’t give him _anything._ She’d gotten rather good at disassociating herself from the pain, from the fear. It was just blood, just noise, just shadows on a wall.

And yet, neither tactic worked. _Don’t hold back!_

She could feel her humanity slipping day by day—she was more animal than girl each time they dragged her from that pit, her wounds nearly healed by the time she was deposited back in her cold, little cell. Levi always inquired, but she knew he couldn’t really _see._ Even the more visible injuries were hidden in the dark. And she never told him much.

_I’m fine. Just questions. It’s fine._

His lack of probing didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned, she knew, but Levi Ackerman had his own secrets to keep.

So there they were, trapped together, alone with their secrets, and growing less human by the day. She wondered what kind of monster he was turning into over there in his cage. Communication was difficult enough through their respective bars, but the fear of being overheard was also real. Dennard had been dragged from her cell enough times now to determine that the others lining the hall were empty. But that jailor was cleverer than he let on, so they kept their conversations succinct.

Levi could talk to Mikasa, that much she knew. She didn’t bother asking how because she figured he probably didn’t know the answer himself. In the end, the only thing she needed to hear from him was “we’re gonna get out of here,” and the only thing he needed to hear from her was “yes, I’m still alive.”

A loud scrambling sound emanated from Levi’s cell, startling her from her thoughts. She crawled on hands and knees back to the bars, pressing her face against the cold metal, trying to see through the darkness.

“Levi, are you alright?” she rasped, senses straining. No reply. “Did you fall?” she inquired again.

The sound of shuffling, a grunt. He’d definitely fallen—she could hear him rustling around on the floor. He cursed under his breath, mumbling something she couldn’t make out.

“What?”

Levi sighed from somewhere in the dark, and she watched with a creased brow as his face melted from the shadows and appeared behind the bars of his cell door. “I said, that woman is a fucking pain in my ass.”

 

* * *

 

 

The night sky was one large bruise—a port-wine black, littered with stars and unblemished by clouds.

It would be very easy to get too comfortable here, she thinks.

She had stretched her mind, her eyes, expanded beyond the Underground and stood beneath the boundless. But she could never forget what it had felt like to once be trapped.

Eren Jaeger lay sleeping beside her, his breath even and untroubled, his long hair brushing against her shoulder. Very comfortable.

He loved her. Had said as much. But the word had always been a loaded phrase in her mouth, carrying with it more baggage than good intention. _Love_ was a weapon, a trap. She’d been trapped before.

She thought of her wretched mother. Obsequious woman. She’d sold every part of herself, ultimately paying with her life when the price became too high. A woman who now haunted her dreams and whose manner echoed in her own at times—much to her chagrin. Because she was not her mother; she had escaped the trap, hadn’t died a caged bird.

_I got out, dear Mother. I succeeded where you failed. I was strong when you were always, always weak. I am nothing like you._

And yet, there she lay in the bed of a man she did not love, his scent still clinging to her skin. A scarlet woman.

Turning Eren Jaeger’s head and ensnaring his heart had been easy. For all his stubborn ways and volatile tendencies, Eren was eager for affection and a like-mind. He was still a boy, after all.

And _oh_ , how Mikasa Ackerman had faltered. How she’d nearly _broken_ under the devastation _._ And while the reaction had been expected, it was still quite a spectacle to observe. But the girl worth one hundred soldiers proved her strength in her resilience, and over time she’d adapted, found a new rhythm; it didn’t matter how many blows dealt, how many rounds, the girl just kept getting back up.

Seducing Eren hadn’t been entirely for naught, however. Besotted men had loose tongues—even looser still when held between a woman’s thighs. For a while, he had been her only tie to the inner workings of the machine. He wasn’t stupid, just a fool in love, and entirely too trusting.

But even that asset had eventually ran its course; for whatever reason, Armin Arlert had decided as of late to keep his childhood friend in the dark on certain things. Vital things. It was incomprehensible and beyond frustrating.

She already had one Ackerman locked away under layers of stone, oblivious to a world above that thought him dead, but she needed _both._ The other would be difficult to obtain, no doubt; even if the truth of the lance corporal’s survival were to be revealed to Mikasa, she’d never exactly held the man in a favorable light, so using him as leverage wasn’t an option.

Neither was Eren anymore, for that matter. Yet another plan that had met a dead end.

That left her with no choice but to take matters into her own hands. Typical. Thankfully, she had a way of burrowing underneath even the toughest of skins. The information gleaned from Levi—as estranged from his fellow Ackerman as he was–couldn’t hurt either. She needed to earn Mikasa’s trust. Perhaps the hardest job yet.

Her thoughts drifted to the golden-eyed girl. The _Titan-shifter._ How long had they waited to receive her? How long had they observed that dumpy little tavern and innkeeper, just _waiting_ for the right moment? She was invaluable, that girl, not just for her abilities but for her _youth_. The young were pliable, blank pages upon which new ideals could be inscribed.

Of course, the Jones twins had effectively sullied that page. She blamed her brother for the mistake; Galen and Percy Jones were stunted and reckless, more tools than men, and they needed to be kept on a tight leash. In the end, the dog can’t be blamed for biting when it was the master who failed to call it to heel. The killing of the girl’s father was _not_ planned. What had started as a controlled, thought-out strategy had quickly become a rush job. Really, it was this fact that had cost her an Ackerman. If the Joneses weren’t already dead…

She gripped the sheets in anger, eyes closing to the view of the bruised sky. Dennard was a weapon, yes, but one she had hoped to _nurture,_ not wield. Now there would be no erasure of the damage committed to the girl’s trust.

She touched the flesh of her neck, tracing over where _his_ hand had been.

Eren had been initially reluctant. It was a moment of weakness for her, a moment of foolishness, but she allowed it anyway. He didn’t want to hurt her—he was tender, after all—but that hadn’t been the point. There was something about that night, in a room much smaller than the one she lay in now, a different hand clenched around her throat, that made her want to try something new.

Dangerous.

With Eren’s cautious hands around her throat, green eyes changing to a steely gray in her mind, she had allowed herself to once again invision that better future where the clans ruled in their rightful places. Revenge was a bloody, bloody thing. And it tasted _very_ good.

Eren shifted beside her and she used the moment to pull the covers off of herself, stopping when he did, her left leg halfway out of the bed. Wait. It wouldn’t be light for another few hours, but she wanted to be long gone before he woke.

His nightmares had lessened noticeably over the course of their relationship, and she knew it was her presence that calmed him. Something akin to remorse flickered within the cold, barren depths of her black heart. Just a boy.

Still, he was a light sleeper, and it had taken her several weeks to master the art of sneaking out without waking the Titan-shifter.

Thirty breaths counted. Time to move.

She continued this pattern of shifting and waiting, shifting and waiting, until she was completely free of the bed and standing beside it. She observed the sleeping man—her lover—watching his back slowly expand as he breathed.

She turned to the window, looking up at the sky once more. The bruise color had dissipated to more of a light aubergine. The stars were also gone. Watching the sunrise had swiftly become one of her favorite things upon leaving the Underground, a spectacle she had only ever dreamed about before and a luxury she didn’t regret routinely indulging in. Shame she couldn’t stay for this one.

Exiting the bedroom was even easier than leaving the bed itself, and soon she was padding down the hall on bare feet toward the baths, clothes for the day tucked underneath her arm.

Showered and changed, she stood before the mirror and combed through her damp hair, pulling the red strands into a long plait. Green eyes traced over her reflection—the pale face, small mouth, smattering of freckles. She didn’t linger long; for all her faults, her vices, vanity had never been one of them. But the mirror served as a reminder of sorts.

The sky had begun to turn gray by the time she left the barracks. She wandered the grounds for a while, thinking over her next step, writing the remaining words in the verse. By the time she was satisfied with her script, the sun had crest the far ridge of wall Rose, turning her hair to flame.

She found the second Ackerman in the courtyard near the stables—her usual haunt when she wasn’t busy throwing knives in the training room. She was sitting on a bench beside a gurgling fountain, a book cradled against her injured arm.

“Mikasa! I’m so glad I found you.” she called, smile already set in place. The dark-haired woman looked up from the book she was reading and regarded her from across the courtyard. The briefest look of surprise flickered across the Asian girl’s face, but it was gone as soon as it occurred, her own interpretation of a smile stitching itself across her mouth and leaving only those unusual-looking eyes to gleam like a pair of obsidian stones—burning in their intensity, yet void of any truths or emotion.

“Hello, Rubie.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rubie. Never liked that bitch. Congrats to all you keen readers who figured her out. ;) Also, I promised a 2 chapter update, right? This one was short, so next one is twice as long and contains...certain developments...
> 
> As always, you all have been so kind and encouraging, and I thank you for the support!


	13. Whole Lotta Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What have I written.

Armin cast a wary glance around the room before his eyes landed on the sole inhabitant. Mikasa sat in the window alcove, her knees draw up, nose buried in a book. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

It felt odd to be standing in the Lance Corporal’s chambers without a summon, let alone without the man himself present. It was even stranger still to see Mikasa there, who seemed rather familiar with the environment. Maybe it was the sleepy, afternoon sun that blanketed the room in a warm light, but there was a definite air of comfort to the scene before him.

An intimacy.

The captain’s collection of books was something most people did not know about, so for Mikasa to be poring over one of the volumes suggested she had either reached a certain level of recklessness or her relationship with Heichou had fundamentally changed.

“Are you alone?” His voice was barely above a murmur, and yet she visibly jumped, the book in her hands slamming shut.

She regarded him for a few beats, thoughts churning behind those dark eyes. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she said at last, ignoring his question and looking back down at the tome in her lap. He couldn’t read the title from his position at the door.

“You’re not wondering how I found you?”

Mikasa smiled—that rare, genuine beam that lit up her whole face and touched her eyes. “You’re far too clever, Armin. I stopped wondering how you do things a long time ago.”

He returned her smile. This was why they were friends.

“And, yes, I’m alone.” Her smile faded ever so slightly, and she tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

Reassured that the Lance Corporal wasn’t observing him, Armin stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Yes, it did feel quite odd to be in here. Mikasa seemed to sense his discomfort. “Levi asked me to dust his room every once and awhile. He said I could borrow a book as a sort of recompense.”

_Levi?_ Oh, things had _definitely_ changed. That explained why he’d seen her steal away to the captain’s quarters as of late.

Armin took a seat opposite her in the nook, trying not to appear too uncomfortable. She didn’t seem to be aware of his awkwardness, however, her gaze solemn and preoccupied by something outside. “If you want to be alone right now…”

Mikasa shook her head, brow furrowing as she continued to stare out the window. When she spoke, her voice was tight, her teeth clenched to keep the emotion at bay. “I’ve never felt so enraged yet utterly helpless before, Armin.”

He sighed, chest clenching in anguish. “We don't know for certain that Rubie is the head of the Redeemers,” he offered, but she was already shaking her head.

“Yes, we do. I get we’re waiting for proof, but we fucking know.”

Armin didn’t know what to expect when he was called into Erwin’s office two days ago. Discovering that Rubie, fiancée to Eren and apple of his eye, was under suspicion of being the _Red Woman_ hadn’t even been in the top ten possibilities he’d entertained.

In retrospect, in made sense. Didn’t make the news easier to swallow, however.

Mikasa sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. “I know how it looks, Armin. I have this...history with Eren, and now I suddenly suspect his fiancée is the leader of an underground terrorist group.” She watched him with vulnerable eyes, her fingers picking nervously at the wrapping of her splint. “But it’s the fact that she’s approached me _now_ of all times. I mean, we’ve always been polite in each other’s company, but we’re certainly not _friends.”_ She scoffed and added, “if anything, she seemed to respect the history Eren and I have and therefore gave me a wide berth.”

Armin nodded his agreement; it was true that while the two women had probably only spoken a few words to each other before now, there never appeared to be any bad blood. An unspoken truce. He reached out his hand and took hers. “Mikasa. _I_ believe you. And while I do think the Commander is right to wait for Captain Levi to confirm our suspicions, that doesn’t mean I doubt your intuition.” He gave her hand a squeeze, adding, “besides, with or without the captain’s corroboration, we already knew someone would attempt to get close to you. Given what we know about this Redeemer woman, Rubie fits the bill.”

Her eyes swam, but she kept the tears in check, turning her hand over to clasp their fingers together. “I hate lying to Eren.”

And there lay the crux of their discontent. Commander Smith, once again, was adamant about keeping Eren in the dark, at least until there was irrefutable evidence. And really, it was for Eren’s own safety; he was closer than anyone to Rubie, and if she suspected he knew something…

Perhaps what was more painful than lying to his friend was picturing Eren’s devastation when he finally _did_ learn the truth.

“I know,” Armin sighed. “I feel like I’m betraying him in the worst way.”

Mikasa made a quick swiping motion at her face, erasing a rogue tear before it could fall down her cheek. “I’m worried he’ll never forgive us.”

This was a fear Armin shared, that their friend would never be able to look them the same way again. “I assume he’s finally told you about the wedding?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he was a little nervous I could tell, but then he…” a broken laugh escaped her, eyes welling again. “Oh, Armin, he really loves her.”

Armin closed his eyes, as if he could shut out the words. “I’m sorry Mikasa. That must have been difficult for you.”

Another laugh, this one not as devastated. “It’s not that. I thought it would be, but it wasn’t. I mean, it’s more like I’m _aware_ that those feelings used to be there.” She pawed absently at her neck. “But now...I just see how much this will hurt him, and I feel powerless to stop it.”

“It’s not your fault, Mikasa. And you _can’t_ stop it.” _The damage is already done_. “Commander Smith is making preparations for an infiltration unit. We have to be ready to move.”

He watched that steely resolve reassemble itself across his friend’s face, her jaw setting, eyes hardening. “I’m supposed to meet Rubie tomorrow evening to go _dress shopping.”_

She said the word with such distaste that Armin couldn’t help but laugh. “Is it the activity or the company that offends you?”

“Both.”

“But you’ve worn dresses, you like dresses!”

“Not as much anymore.” She shook her head, but a grin fought to claim her mouth. “And it’s for her _wedding._ It just feels weird.”

“Well, there you go. You don’t even need to try anything on, just stand there and nod politely at the options. That’s what we men do.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mikasa gave in to her smile, shaking her head at a thought. “Besides, Levi will be there to confirm whether or not our suspicions of her are correct, and I can only _imagine_ what he’ll have to say about the whole thing.”

Armin grinned for an entirely different reason, no longer able to keep his musings to himself. “Ah, I see.”

She was onto him immediately, smile gone and eyes narrowed. “What.”

This was _always_ how this kind of thing went. Mikasa could hide a lot, but even she couldn’t keep everything from him, and when he had a theory, it was only a matter of time before he had needled the truth out of her. Her usual defense in those moments was either righteous indignation or to shut down completely.

But Armin had years of practice wearing down her walls.

“Oh, nothing, really.” It was his turn to look out the window. “I just find it interesting how comfortable you’ve gotten with Heichou.”

He could almost _hear_ her eyes popping out of her head. She proceeded to huff and ramble to the contrary—righteous indignation, as predicted—her disgruntlement only increasing when he gave her a side-glancing smirk.

“Just what _are_ you suggesting, Armin?” Her face was grim, an expression that made most people—himself included, at times—cower in fear.

“I’m not _suggesting_ anything! I mean it. I was just _commenting_ on how comfortable you seem.”

“I’m not comfortable.”

“Well, not right now, maybe.”

Mikasa groaned and removed herself from the window, taking the book with her. Armin finally caught the title: _Poetry from Karanes._ Interesting.

“I’m doing the best I can to _adapt_ to having someone else inside my head, and I think the fact that we haven’t killed each other yet is no small miracle,” she groused, her back to him as she approached the bookshelf against the far wall.

“This is true.” Armin felt the slightest twinge of guilt. Only the slightest. “I think it’s admirable how the two of you have made this thing work. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it must be.” He paused for effect. “So for the two of you to leave past grievances behind you and become _friends_ is quite wonderf—“

Mikasa spun around like a cat who’d gotten its tail stamped on. “We are _not friends.”_ There was a warning in her tone, book of poetry clutched against her chest like some kind of shield. _Gotcha._

“What are you then?” Direct, no more pretense, though he maintained his smile.

She seemed to falter here, to actually search for an answer. Finally, her shoulders sagged, all previous animosity leaving her. “I don’t know.”

Armin left the window and approached his friend. “I’m sorry, my intention wasn’t to interrogate you, Mikasa.” He grasped her broken arm gently, fixing a section of gauze that she had plucked loose. “I just want you to be happy.”

He fully expected her to gainsay his words, but she only averted her gaze, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. “Are you happy, Armin?”

Her question took him by surprise. Armin had been so preoccupied with breaching her defenses that he’d forgotten about his own. She had that unnervingly observant look in her eye. Like she could see straight through him.

“Stressed, tired, but those are all superficial issues,” he deflected with a shrug. Her expression didn’t change. Oh, how quickly the tables could turn. “I’m worried, mainly. About you...about Eren.”

Mikasa looked down at the book in her hands, tracing over its leather face with her thumbs. “He’s going to need you,” she said suddenly, voice soft.

“What?”

“Eren. After all this is over. He will need someone to be there.”

Her words disturbed him, in part because she was speaking as if she _wouldn’t_ be there.

“Promise me, Armin.” She was crying. “I love you both so much.”

He pulled her to his chest, his own tears falling onto her dark hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist, the book pressing into his back as she clung to him. “Mikasa…nothing is going to happen to you.”

A great, shuddering sigh escaped her. “I’m not talking about me. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.” She smiled up at him, and it was like his heart was ripping in two.

“I...I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing. For the pain she felt? A pain which he knew all too acutely himself? Maybe he wasn’t even apologizing.

Mikasa shook her head, a tear sliding down her pale cheek. “No, Armin.” She was about to say more, but her chin trembled too violently, so she only looked at him with those big, dark eyes. He embraced her again, tucking her head under his chin. They stood like that, just breathing, watching dust motes dance through the sunlight.

 

* * *

 

 

She sensed his presence this time.

“Don’t throw anything at me.”

“I’m not armed.” She’d meant to be droll, but the words ended up sounding more dejected, so she added, “save for this,” and held up the book.

There was a pause before he murmured a desultory, “you alright?”

She had composed herself after Armin left, but her chest still felt like there was a gaping hole where her heart should be.

“I’m fine.” She gestured vaguely about the room. “I dusted, by the way.”

When Levi didn’t respond, she figured he was preoccupied with scrutinizing a spot she’d missed, and prepared to defend her botched cleaning job. The words died on her tongue, however, when she turned from the window and found him already watching her.

“Thank you.”

It was her turn for bafflement. Astonishment, really, because Mikasa couldn’t _ever_ remember him thanking _anyone._ A “well done,” perhaps after an expedition, or a spar, or _not dying,_ but never a thank you, and never to her. Had he even looked at the room?

“It’s probably not to your standards, but at least the place isn’t buried in dust.”

He nodded, but the motion was more a gesture of gratitude than agreement. _First he apologizes, now he’s_ thanking _me._

She couldn’t think of any reason he could have for showing up now; he’d pretty much said his piece that night in the training room. The last time they had spoken was two days ago when she’d connected to him from Erwin’s office. The interaction had lasted _maybe_ ten minutes—just enough time to inform him of the Rubie situation and Erwin’s plan for moving forward.

“Oi, Mikasa.”

She’d forgotten he was there, the gentle rasp of his voice making her start. “Sorry, I was in my head.”

“I know. I’m up there too.” He picked up one of the teacups off his desk and regarded it, passing it from one hand to the other before putting it down again. It was almost like he was...fidgeting. Why didn’t he just leave already?

“What are you doing here?” She knew her tone was brusque, but this was not behavior she associated with him and it was making her mildly uncomfortable.

“You called me.”

”What?”

“I sensed you, so I woke the connection.” He leaned against the desk, fingers tapping an distrait beat into the wood. “You seemed upset.”

“You _sensed_ I was upset?”

“I think we’re beyond questioning the ins and outs of this whole thing, Ackerman.” A very Levi reply, and she found it oddly reassuring.

Well, no point in pretenses. “Eren will never forgive me when he finds out I kept this from him.”

Levi sighed. “If the brat has any sense he’ll understand _why_ you kept it from him,” and then quieter, under his breath, “you coddle him too much.”

There was a time not too long ago when his words would have riled her, but she couldn’t find the energy to get defensive now. “I suppose you’re right.”

His head snapped to her. “I’m sorry?” She had agreed with him. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“I said you’re right, I need to let go of some things. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

He still wasn’t leaving. Why wasn’t he leaving? He could leave. He knew how.

It was his room; maybe she should leave instead. In fact, Hanji had been wanting her to test what would happen to their connection if they moved far enough apart. “Did you...want something?”

Gray eyes lifted to look at her, and he made an affirmative sound—a low hum at the back of his throat. “There are a few things I want.” He looked back at the teacup. “A good cup of tea, for starters.”

Oh, so he wanted to play coy.

Mikasa seethed, setting her book down on the desk with deliberate slowness. He watched the movement, eyes not meeting hers. “I’ll tell you what I want,” she said, keeping her voice low and even as she crossed around the corner of the desk. “I want you to stop yanking me around.”

He did look at her then, and she saw the briefest flicker of surprise on his face.

“I don’t like being held at arm’s length.” To punctuate her point, she stepped forward into his space.

“Don’t.” The word was a rumble in his chest, a warning, and yet his face was impossibly blank.

“What, get too close?” she hissed, gritting her teeth to keep her anger at bay. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not _afraid,_ brat.” His face twisted into a scowl, and he leaned forward as if to show he wouldn’t be backing down. “But you can’t afford to lose perspective on what’s important—“

“Oh, bull-fucking-shit!” _Now_ she was mad. She jabbed her finger into his chest, hammering her words home. “You’re the one who’s losing perspective.”

Levi batted her hand away, pushing past her and crossing to the window. “Don’t forget yourself, Ackerman. You’re a soldier first,” he growled, “act like one.”

Despite his words, his voice lacked its previous vitriol. She followed him to the window. She wouldn’t allow him to escape, not when she was wearing him down like this.

“I am. It’s you who is acting like a _coward.”_

His shoulders stiffened, and he slowly turned his head to look at her. He didn’t speak, just regarded her with that predacious expression. He was waiting to see if she’d balk and back away with her tail tucked between her legs. He could say more with those eyes than most men could with their words. He must have known how _unnerving_ it was when he looked at people that way. The fading sunlight cast shadows over the angular planes of his face, highlighting the severity of his expression.

She saw, much to her shock, that there were flecks of blue in his eyes. How had she never noticed before? They certainly weren’t Erwin’s startling shade of azure, but in this light, this close to his face, she could clearly make out the deeper colors in his irises. What was it...steel-blue?

Levi inhaled slowly as if he was going to speak, and her gaze dropped to his mouth, an odd yet familiar sensation fluttering in her gut. He tore away from her again, a pained sound escaping him. Just _where_ he thought he was going was beyond her. He could’ve easily cut the connection. He’d done it before. And yet...

“Hey!” She snapped at his retreating back, a strange quaver in her voice. “Look at me.” He stopped mid step and turned his head, giving her his profile. “Why did you push me away?” She spoke quieter, no longer shouting since she had his attention, and because that damn waver threatened to break her voice. Why was she so upset?

“You know why,” came his terse reply, eyes downcast and partially hidden beneath dark fringe. 

Fury lit her chest aflame again, and the sudden urge to attack him like that night in the sparring room threatened to take over her senses. This was becoming  _ridiculous._ She covered the distance he had put between them in three long strides, grabbing the coarse fabric of his shirt in her fists and yanking him to face her. She watched as his incredulity quickly gave way to a rage of his own, and she was finally met with the full intensity of those orbs.

No, not rage. Not entirely. His eyes were like smoke, burning and hot…and yes, she did know why.

“Maybe, but I want to hear you say it,” she bit through gritted teeth, voice low but devoid of its former anger. There was a desperation to it now. Anticipation.

Levi glared back at her with those gray-blue eyes, unblinking, unmoving. Finally, he huffed a breath through his nose and shook his head. “Fuck it all.”

Mikasa met him midway, their lips connecting in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Not that she really cared in that moment. She just needed more of him, couldn’t press herself close enough.

Unlike the kiss, his hair was incredibly, incredibly soft. She tangled her hands through it, feeling where his undercut was beginning to grow out. A groan escaped him when her fingers scraped over the back of his head. He gripped at her waist, hands sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt. She gasped against his mouth when he suddenly hoisted her onto the desk, the tea set rattling at the impact. Neither of them paid it any mind. His hands left her waist to slide over the curve of her ass, and she wrapped her legs around his back, trapping him against her.

This was...unlike _anything_ she’d done before. Her first kiss had been a dismal experience she’d kept locked in the back of her mind, labeled as nothing more than just that—an experience. Done. Accomplished. Lesson obtained. Jean Kirschtein had been more than willing but even less capable, though she couldn’t fault him for trying.

_Don’t think about Kirschtein._

Levi groaned when she nibbled his lower lip, and she used the parting of his mouth to meet his tongue with her own. His hold on her hips tightened, pulling her against him closer still, and she felt—

Oh.

An electrifying sensation shot through Mikasa’s body like a lightning bolt, and she broke the kiss abruptly despite her better judgement. Levi blinked at her with an unfocused gaze, his breath warm and mingling with hers.

And then he stopped. Stopped breathing, stopped moving.

Clarity dawned in his eyes—a mix of confusion and alarm—and suddenly they were both scrambling apart. He opened his mouth to speak only to shut it again, and at first she thought maybe he was thinking of giving her another apology. She would surely throw the tea set if he did that.

“This is what I…” Levi gestured at the space between them as he fumbled for the words. He gave up searching and turned away, running his hands through his hair. “I wanted to avoid this.”

To her utter horror, Mikasa felt her eyes burn, and she was thankful he had turned his back. The apology would have been better—actually, she wanted it now. She fixed her rumpled shirt, used the task to blink the irritating moisture from her eyes. “Because you’re afraid.” He whipped his head to look at her, but she spoke again before he could, voice resolute as she approached him. “I was angry before when I called you a coward, but now I see that I was correct.”

“Mikasa—”

Her hand on his chest silenced him. So, she’d called him here. Certainly she could send him back. “As much as I’d like to continue this little exchange, I think it best we pause.” She watched a series of emotions chase each other behind his eyes. “I need time to gather my _perspective."_

 

* * *

 

She had thrown him from her. _Thrown_ him.

Levi glared up at the space where she had been, her outline burned into his retinas like some brilliant flash of light. He was sitting on his ass in the middle of the cell. In the dirt. Like a dog. He collapsed onto his back, sighing in frustration.

He _was_ frustrated. And impossibly aroused, and that was just gonna have to be his problem.

_Coward._

Fuck, she was right, though, of course she was; bond or no bond, the attraction was there, and denying it wouldn’t make it go away. He should have known that she wouldn’t just let it be, that she wouldn’t let him get away with shutting down or some other bullshit. Then again, when had she _ever?_ That same mouth that had kissed him—oh, how she’d kissed him—had cut him down to size with unyielding ferocity. She had _kissed him back,_ met his every stride and _then_ some. Levi had never, _ever_ wanted someone in this way.

Laying in the dirt, his blood cooling, the remnants of their connection flickering against his mind, Levi realized that the bond was just an excuse, that even without it he wouldn’t have been able to hide from her. She’d seen right through him from day one—taken one glance at him and seen the true form that lay beneath his carefully constructed facade.

Mikasa Ackerman had always been there. And he’d just been too blind to see it. She’d gotten closer, seen more than almost anyone ever had and ever would.

But mostly, she’d made him tremble. An unprecedented thing.

“Levi, are you alright?” came Dennard’s small voice from the cell opposite. “Did you fall?”

He rolled onto his hands and knees, cursing the dust on his trousers and making a mental note to never, _ever_ make Mikasa Ackerman angry _ever_ again _._ Not unless he was well out of shoving range. “Fuck .” He still couldn’t believe it. _“What the fuck, Ackerman?”_ And, really, he didn’t know which of them he addressed.

_Coward._

“What?” Dennard’s face was pressed between the bars of her cell, her amber gaze searching blindly.

He sighed and stepped toward the barred door. “I said, that woman is a fucking pain in my ass.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Ackersmut. Yet. Just whetting the palate. Also, this is unbeta'd, so any glaring errors fall completely on my insomnia-addled incompetence.


	14. What Is And What Should Never Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the start of our M-rating, kids. My first time writing a smut(ish?) scene, and I wanna thank those of you who beta’d, encouraged, or offered advice about it! You know who you are. ;) Also, thank you Lana Del Rey for writing shexy music.

 

There was something so incredibly bleak about an unmarked grave.

“Buttercup for childhood. Youth.”

“An apt choice. Color is good too,” Efran said, and it was, but Hanji thought the yellow blooms stood out too sharply against the barren gray of the tombstone.

“They bloom until autumn, so this is the last month that they’re in season.”

They were silent for several minutes, just standing over the small grave, observing its blank face. Finally, Efran spoke again. “You get kind of used to people dying down in the Underground. Happens all the time. Same thing with the Corps, I know. Just the nature of the job.” His voice was gentle, respectful. “I never got used to seeing children die, however.”

Hanji nodded in agreement, her mouth twisting into a frown as she thought about the dead boy buried below their feet. Had he been afraid before he died? Alone? She didn’t even know his name.

This was their greatest crime, the Redeemers. She could tally every sin committed and find they all paled in comparison to this one.

“It also symbolizes humility and neatness,” she said, resuming an earlier thought. Efran understood. She appreciated this fact about him; she didn’t need to double back and explain her mind or censor her words. Even Armin couldn’t understand some things; he probably assumed she and Efran had grown close for an entirely different reason. “Well, thanks for coming. Again. It’s a grim business, I know, but I feel…”

He watched her search for the word before supplying, “obligated?”

She hummed a no, shook her head. “Too strong. Compelled, maybe?”

Efran nodded. “I understand.” She knew he did. They both understood what it meant to keep company with the dead, especially the ones who never had it in life.

The soft tread of someone approaching reached their ears, and both turned at the same time to see Mikasa striding through the cemetery, her face dour.

“It didn’t work?”

Mikasa scoffed and shook her head, sending a glance to her left. “Oh, no, it did.” Her frown deepened. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Hanji followed the woman’s gaze, regarding the empty air with growing excitement, her previously dark mood lifting some. “I still would have liked to have been there!” She had to restrain herself from _capering_ across the grass to meet the dark-haired woman.

“It’s good to see you, Efran,” Mikasa said with a warm smile.

The tattooed man returned the expression. “You as well, Mikasa. How is your arm? Not throwing anymore knives I hope?”

Hanji found the woman’s blush to be odd.

“I’m healing quickly. Hanji says I can have the splint removed in another week.”

Efran looked genuinely surprised by this information. “I’m no doctor, but doesn’t it usually take a few months for a break like that to heal?”

Hanji nodded with enthusiasm, excited to tell a new pair of ears her latest discovery. “Ackerbones heal quicker than other people’s.”

Efran chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “Well, there’s a handy skill.” He gave Mikasa a wink. “Well, I won’t keep you from your appointment in town. I best be off myself.”

“Thank you again, Efran,” Hanji said, and he saluted her. His use of the military gesture was a recent development, and she suspected his intent was partially tongue-in-cheek. Still, she took no offense. Especially because he always did it wrong, and there was something inherently funny about that.

“Hanji, Mikasa.” He addressed them both with a little nod before turning on his heel and setting off across the graveyard. “Goodnight, Levi.”

Hanji snorted in amusement. “Strange man, your friend, Levi. It’s not even night.” She sobered when she saw Mikasa’s gloomy expression. “Right, well, best not to keep Rubie waiting. Don’t want to be rude.”

“Rudeness is the last thing I’m worried about,” Mikasa mumbled.

Hanji paused mid stride, sending a reproachful look at the lieutenant. “We’re doing this so Levi can confirm her identity. Nothing more. Erwin’s orders were to act accordingly.” She hazard a guess to where Levi was standing. “That goes for _both_ of you.”

Mikasa’s eyes turned down in chagrin. “Of course.”

A thought occurred to Hanji then. “Say, how do I even know you’re paying attention, Levi? You could be dancing around, pulling faces at me and I wouldn’t even—“

She yelped in surprise as a large clod of dirt suddenly lifted itself from the ground and sailed through the air, smacking her square in the chest.

“Woah! Ok! Ok! I’m convinced!” She brushed the soil from her shirt and chuckled. “You also answered a _very_ pressing question I had about the whole Ackerbond—“

She managed to spin away from the second clod.

“Alright! I believed you the first time!” She sent Mikasa an exasperated look. “What’s his deal?”

“He wants you to stop making words with _Ackerman.”_

Hanji came up with a total of seven more alterations on the surname and dodged three more earthen missiles before they finally reached town. “Remember, act accordingly,” she whispered to Mikasa.

“Aye.”

The dress shop was small but quaint, one of its walls lined with rolls of fabrics in various shades and textures. Hanji couldn’t remember seeing so much color in one place before. The detail to some of the designs was extraordinary. The hands that made these fabrics were not hands that killed Titans; the calluses on the dressmaker’s fingers were different from the ones on her own.

It struck her then how odd both she and Mikasa looked in a place like this. They’d dressed in civilian attire for the occasion, but they still stuck out. Perhaps it was their bearing; military comportment was difficult to shake.

“May I help you?” The dressmaker herself appeared from the back room. She was older, her back in a slight stoop, fingers curved from years working at a loom. Her face was kind, however, smiling.

“We are waiting for a third person. She is being fitted for a wedding dress,” Hanji replied, shaking the woman’s hand. Another benefit to wearing regular clothes was the lack of formality to interactions. A lot of soldiers desired the cachet a uniform afforded them. Not Hanji. Veneration could get old very fast.

“A young woman came in here yesterday to make an appointment. Red hair?”

“That’s she.”

The dressmaker smiled. “Lovely girl. Very pretty hair. And so young! Getting married already?”

“Indeed. Kids these days.” Hanji continued the small talk with a smile, but her thoughts wandered to the field research papers piled on her desk back at HQ that she needed to sort before the start of the week. She wondered how the old woman would react if the conversation shifted to her current study of Titan toe gout.

“You have such a nice face shape, dear,” the dressmaker cooed. “I know I have a pair of spectacles that would be much more suited to you. Something more feminine.”

Ah, _this_ was a well-worn discourse that Hanji had held more times than she could count. One benefit of age was the cooling effect it had on an impassioned riposte—she’d learned the hard way the consequences of acting in anger before thinking through a situation. Still, even now she could feel the flare of indignation in her belly.

“I’m afraid anything less substantial than these babies would get damaged too quickly out on the field.”

“Ah, I see.” Confusion. She wasn’t in uniform, afterall. “And what field do you work in?”

The cachet. Even seamstresses gobbled it up. At least it bought her an excuse to leave the interaction with relative grace. Rubie was still nowhere to be seen, but she found Mikasa by the wall of fabrics.

“Oi, you haven’t seen Rubie yet, have you?” Mikasa didn’t reply. She was clearly distracted—perhaps Levi was saying something to her. Hanji prepared to repeat herself but stopped when she saw the rows of goosebumps erupt across Mikasa’s arm.

 

* * *

 

He was watching her. She could feel his eyes boring into her back.

They hadn’t said one word to each other, and she was in part grateful for the presence of Hanji to act as a buffer.

Hanji was currently engaged with the dressmaker, leaving Mikasa to fend for herself, which consisted of perusing a box of buttons as if they were the most fascinating little objects she’d ever encountered.

“Look at me, will you?”

She ignored him. It wasn’t like she could interact with him anyway in public like this.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tried again, as if reading her mind.

She plucked at a red button, holding it to the light.

“ _Mikasa_.” He said her name in such a way—like he was tasting it, savoring the syllables—and she _knew_ he was doing so on purpose. “Please.”

Is this what imprisonment did to a man? Apologies and pleadings? She touched her mouth, as if absently chewing on her nails, muttering a quiet “fuck off” behind the protection of her fingers.

“Look at me.”

She looked at Hanji instead. The woman was still conversing with the shopkeeper. Mikasa lowered her voice to a whisper, resuming her button forage as she hissed, “this is exactly what I meant when I said you were jerking me around. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I just want to talk.”

“We are.”

He scoffed.

“I don’t really see what there is to talk about.”

“There’s a lot.”

Mikasa cast another glance around the shop. “If you’re going to give me a lecture, save it. I don’t need it. We can just pretend it never—“

Levi stepped closer to her, which seemed to be his favorite tactic for testing her resolve. It worked, it tested it. “No. What you said about pretending like this...thing doesn’t exist in the hopes that it will just go away…” He pressed his lips together, trapping the words.

“What the hell do you mean.”

“I mean, _Mikasa,_ that I…” He sighed in exasperation, lowering his voice even more as if he was the one in danger of being overheard, gesturing between them with his finger. “This is incredibly distracting.”

Mikasa moved on from the buttons to inspect the rolls of fabric. Levi followed.

“Look, I’m not fucking good at this shit, so I’ll just get to the point. We can’t afford distractions right now. We have too much riding on our ability to keep it together. Too many people depending on us.”

Mikasa forced herself to look at him. Really look. His hair was getting longer, the messy strands falling across the bridge of his nose and against his cheeks. He was thinner too, which made those wonted circles beneath his eyes even more prominent.

He looked younger like this, ironically. Almost boyish. And she felt very guilty.

“And after?” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He looked confused. “After this is all over, when there aren’t people depending on us, when we don’t have to keep it together.”

Levi sighed and coursed his hand through his hair. She remembered how soft the dark strands had felt, and her stomach did a little flip.

“There are always going to be people depending on us, Mikasa.”

She regretted pushing him away from her that day in his room. It had been her foolish pride. She should have pulled him closer and kissed him again, because _damn him_ he was right; this was the price that came with being the strongest.

Emotion tightened her throat. “We need to live too.”

He didn’t respond, merely regarded her with that gunmetal gaze.

Mikasa turned back to the fabric rolls, a shameful blush warming her face. He was right. This was _very distracting._

She could see Hanji approaching in her periphery, but the entirety of her focus was suddenly called to the sensation of Levi’s fingers trailing up the back of her neck.

Gooseflesh pricked at her arms, something primal jolting down her spine as he ever so lightly traced her skin. He was touching _that_ spot at the base of her skull—that shared place where the connection could be felt. It was all she could do not to tilt her head back and press into his hand.

“You’re asking me to offer up my heart…” His voice was a low murmur beside her ear, a quiet rasp that belied the strength she knew he possessed. “...but I don’t think I have one to give.”

The bell above the door shattered whatever spell held them, and the surrounding world came crashing back into focus. Rubie entered like a summer breeze, red hair free from its accustomed plait and cascading down her back. She spotted Mikasa immediately.

“Mika, I am _so_ sorry. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mikasa prepared herself for the ensuing embrace, meeting Levi’s confounded expression from over the redhead’s shoulder. Her hair smelled like jasmine.

“Oh, Hanji, you’re here too.” Rubie turned her physical affection onto the scientist. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Hanji threw herself into the hug with all the jubilance of a puppy, and Mikasa was reminded just _how good_ of an actor the woman had proven herself to be. “Oh, the pleasure is mine. I hope it’s alright if I crash the party. I just needed a break from paperwork. I need a new tie, anyway.”

Levi circled around the women to get a better look at Rubie, his frown deepening as he regarded her face. “ _Fuck._ Yeah it’s she.”

“Mikasa, blue or red for my tie?” There was an odd timbre to Hanji’s voice, her smile just a little too forced.

“Red.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Positive.”

Hanji played off her alarm rather well, going as far as to sling her arm around Rubie and declare they “commence with the shopping.” Mikasa made to follow but was stopped by Levi grasping her sleeve.

“Don’t,” she gasped, fearing someone had seen the phantom tug of her shirt.

“I’ll leave,” he said, face close to hers, breath hot on her neck. “But we aren’t done.” She could still feel the burn of his fingers even after he severed the connection.

• • •

It was twilight by the time the three women said their goodbyes outside the shop. Hanji’s ebullient facade had faded some, and even Rubie noticed the woman’s eagerness to return home.

“Walk with me, will you, Mika?” the redhead inquired in that feathery speech of hers. Hanji was already well down the road, and Mikasa worried how it would look if she declined.

“Sure.”

They walked for a while without speaking, listening to the crunch of their shoes against the dirt road and the babel of night creatures. Finally, Rubie halted in her stride.

“I hope you don’t think me too forward, Mikasa. Asking you here today. I know it’s the only free day you’re not training the cadets.” She fidgeted with the ends of her hair and worried her lip. “I just wanted the opportunity to get to know you better. Outside of Eren.”

There was an angle here, a reason they were having this conversation, and Mikasa resolved to tread _very_ carefully until she knew what that angle was. “I’m glad we could spend time together today, Rubie.” She was glad for the dusk. Her poker face was limited.

“I’m visiting my family in the country this week. I go often, but I’m returning sooner than usual to see my brother.” She’d resumed their walk, keeping her face downturned as she spoke. “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Ah, there it was. Mikasa wasn’t surprised, she knew the Redeemers would be getting close to her, but to watch Rubie dish out this demure, pliant act in such a seamless way was more than a little disturbing. Because she was _good,_ and even out of the dark Mikasa felt paranoid.

This was sudden. Once again, declining would be suspicious, and most likely detrimental. But the alternative catapulted the operation forward far quicker than anyone had planned for. She was taking too long to respond. “I’d like that, Rubie.”

The slip in Rubie’s mask was noticeable even in the dim, perhaps because Mikasa was looking for it. Her grin was just _too_ triumphant. _I’ve won._ She’d laid out the breadcrumbs, and Mikasa had eagerly followed the trail. “Excellent.”

That smile, the flash of teeth, had seared itself into Mikasa’s mind, and she was still picturing it hours later back in the security of her quarters. Erwin would need to know the developments first thing tomorrow. She’d acted of her own volition, but surely he would see the opportunity this afforded them. They were running out of options. This was their in.

She lay in bed, covers to her chin, studying the speckled face of her ceiling as she contemplated the worst possible outcomes. Knowing Rubie’s true nature now, seeing the carefully hidden, _sinister_ potential she was capable of, made her a far more fearsome enemy than Mikasa had anticipated, and already she had inflicted some devastating blows.

Eren, for one, would not come out of this unscathed. Even Armin would bear his own scars. But Mikasa would willingly play the pawn—the _bait—_ swallow any pride over her role in all this so long as she knew it could keep her friends safe. She _would_ keep them safe.

_You’re asking me to offer up my heart, but I don’t think I have one to give._

Levi was first and foremost a weapon, and she’d peered beneath the calm waters of his exterior to find a raging tempest there, terrible as it was glorious. But he was so full of contradictions; the confidence in his bearing, the danger in his stride, was easily confuted by the delicate way he held his cup or adjusted his cravat.

Or the way he touched her.

It wasn’t that long ago that she’d thought him pettish and conceited, wanting nothing more than to knock him down a peg or two and lord that victory over him. But now she found herself contemplating that kiss in his office _far_ too often, and that was a very dangerous train of thought.

Mikasa brought a hand to her mouth, fingers fluttering as she traced the path his tongue had seared across her lower lip. She ignored the clench in her belly as the feeling of his teeth capturing the delicate flesh came unbidden to her mind. He’d been holding back, she’d known this even in the moment, and she shivered at the thought of what it would be like when she was completely healed, when they could finish what they started on his desk and...

_And what?_

Mikasa sat bolt upright in bed at the sound of his voice. “Levi?” He’d spoken. She’d _heard_ him clear as day but couldn’t see him anywhere in the room.

_Is that what you want?_

Oh. This was happening. She wasn't imagining it. 

_Tell me to fuck off again and I will._

In her head. She could hear him in her head. He was giving her a way out of this, the chance to sweep it all under the rug and forget this little moment had ever even occurred. Had he stumbled upon this himself, or had she called him again?

_Tell me to leave._

She was silent, and that was an answer in and of itself.

The connection hummed behind her skull, a pleasant warmth that spread down her back and heated her skin. Was that his breathing or her own? It was difficult to tell over the erratic beat of her pulse. Mikasa didn’t dare move, tried not to breathe—maybe the connection would close after a moment. She wasn’t sure she wanted that. Her control over the bond felt unusually clumsy, just out of her grasp.

His voice was a whisper in the dark. A command.

_Touch yourself._

The brazen words had her squirming, eyes widening in the dark, but her thighs pressed together despite herself. A cautious hand made its way down her belly but stopped at the hem of her underwear.

There was no going back from this.

Pleasuring herself had always been more functional than indulgent—a means to relieve stress. It felt nice, though never _sensual._ But touching herself now, her skin buzzing like a live wire and so _very, very warm_ , she lamented any time spent in the past _not_ indulging.

Levi cursed under his breath.

She paused mid task, heart stuttering, hand trapped between her legs. The connection was still very present, his voice a reminder of that, and it both alarmed and excited her. Her fingers resumed their mission, but her eyes remained open for fear of where her mind might take her in its fevered state—

_Stop. Fucking. Thinking._

Another command, but she could hear the strain in his voice. A moan escaped her before she could stop it, her hand coming up too late. There was no way he didn’t hear that. Neither of them were oblivious to what the other was most definitely doing.

Never had she felt so simultaneously deplorable and utterly aroused. A _distraction._ They should stop. Everything had  _irrevocably_ changed, but they could still stop.

And yet.

Mikasa allowed herself to recall the soft strands of his hair tangled in her fingers. His tongue in her mouth, hands on her thighs. She didn’t want to stop, didn’t even _try,_ and she didn’t care how weak that made her. _Damn_ her useless, broken arm and its cumbersome splint.

Another moan, this one untamed behind a hand as she sought a new angle with a finger, two. Faster, seeking. Would he touch her like this? He could kiss her—kiss her well, too—so surely it wouldn’t take him long to figure out _exactly_ how she liked it.

The sheets were tangled about her feet, nightdress hiked to her ribs as she writhed and arched against her hand. The heat scorched her flesh, her fingers, but she only wanted _more, please, please, more._

A strange feeling fluttered down her spine. She was close, but this was not the sensation she associated with that. Different. It repeated, this time more intense, surprising her and slackening her jaw. She leaned into the feeling, into the connection.

_Mikasa…_

She’d _felt_ him. This, coupled with the broken rasp of her name, was so keenly thrilling, that she soon tumbled over the edge after him. Her back arched off the bed, hand falling away to grip at damp sheets as her own climax wracked her body.

It was eerily quiet when she came back to her senses. The connection was closed.

Mikasa lay there contemplating what she had just done. What _they_ had just done. The impulse to run away was strong, but so was the desire to know what he was thinking. Did he regret it? She didn’t. For all her shame, she did not regret.

And she was in so much trouble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;dr — Hanji is a beautiful cinnamon roll who smashes gender stereotypes and just wants to save the world. She's also best bros with Efran and they visit the grave of that recovered boy who'd been kidnapped by Redeemers (Chapter 3...?) Levi confirms Rubie is the Red ~~Bitch~~ Woman, and he also has a lot of self-loathing and doesn’t feel lovable. Rubie invites Mikasa to “visit her family,” and she accepts even though it’s an Ackertrap. Mikasa and Levi have Ackerphonesex/Force Bond smut.


	15. Hots On For Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honest, officer, I have no idea how that smut got in here. Really. This chapter was all fluff and innocent sexual tension before, and then suddenly there was...yeah.
> 
> Also, A03 likes to screw with my formatting a little, namely by changing select m dashes to n dashes. I try to catch all the little buggers, but apologies if I've missed a few and it's confusing.

Dennard had contemplated keeping the truth from him; what would he be able to do with it, anyway? What was seen in the dark always came to pass. Not even Levi Ackerman could stop it.

Or could he?

The death of her papa had been irrefutable proof that the visions she saw at night were more than just mere nightmares. For the first time, Dennard felt something other than the utter terror that followed a vision; she felt hope. Levi, with her help, just might be able to prevent her latest revelation from coming to pass.

She’d been careful to assess his willingness to believe her visions in the first place; while Levi didn’t strike her as a particularly superstitious man, he was far from stolid. But how would he react to this? This was different. This was...personal.

And so that’s why he needed to know—she _owed_ that much to him.

“We should be alright here, but keep your voice down.” Levi glanced around the lithic space, as if searching for a Redeemer hiding amongst the catacombs.

Another fact she was learning about the short man: His affinity for negotiation. For a man of so few words, he’d managed to secure a few leniencies through Rikard. She wouldn’t be forgetting the sun any time soon.

Just _how_ he managed to do this wasn’t entirely clear to Dennard, but she figured it involved divulging further information about the world up above. All she knew for certain was this current outing to “stretch their legs” afforded her the perfect opportunity.

“Spit it out, brat. What’s so important?”

Dennard took a breath. “Remember those visions I told you about?” Another nod. She continued. “Well, I had another.”

Levi stared at her, unblinking, waiting for her to continue. She didn’t. “And? What did you see?”

She couldn’t look at him, so she looked at the stone daggers protruding from the floor—he had called them _stalamites?_ This wasn’t her doing, she knew, and yet she felt incredibly anxious, as if she were about to confess some grave sin.

“Oi, brat,” he prompted. “Just spit it out.”

Dennard swallowed thickly, still unable to meet his eyes. “I saw Mikasa.”

She could see his shoulders straighten in her periphery. When he spoke, his voice was as dark and empty as the cavern in which they stood. “In what...capacity did you see her?”

 _Mikasa._ The name suited her much more than _Mina._ She could still recall the warmth of the woman’s smile that day in the tavern. At that time, Dennard had only heard stories about the sun and its radiant existence amongst the clouds, and she’d likened Mikasa’s expression to it. She hadn’t been wrong.

She wanted to keep the memory of her smile, or even of her graceful power as she’d fought those men, but the image had since become soaked in blood. _Pale hands clutching, dark hair strewn...so much blood._

Levi grabbed her shoulders with firm hands, going to his knees before her. “Oi! What did you see?”

She felt the sudden urge to apologize. Tears clouded her vision, blurring the image of his stricken face, and she blinked them away rapidly. Her emotions were answer enough, but he still gave her a small shake.

“Dead,” she blubbered. “I saw her dead.”

It was Levi who looked away this time, to the floor-daggers, his uncut hair obscuring his eyes from her view. He held incredibly still, but the tension was palpable in his arms, his hands. Dennard blinked away another set of tears, refusing to pule before him like a child.

Finally, with all the speed of a snail, Levi relaxed his fingers on her arms, his touch hovering. This was as close to a reassuring embrace as she was going to get, and Dennard accepted it wholeheartedly, letting out a shaky breath. He spoke in a softer voice, but his tone was no less bleak.

“Start from the beginning.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Private quarters: a bump in one’s paycheck wasn’t the only perk to a promotion.

Levi glanced around the spartan room, spying a picture of Armin and Eren resting on the bedside table. The dust on the windowsill was problematic, but the space was tidy for the most part. A set of throwing knives—the same ones that had nearly taken his eye—lay in a neat row on the desk accompanied by a whetstone and terry cloth for cleaning.

His eyes lingered over the neatly-made bed, and the memory from a few nights ago returned unbidden to his mind. They hadn’t spoken since that night; for a small time, Levi was reminded what it was like to live without his mind being tethered to another’s.

It was only a matter of time before that mirror she stood before gave him away. Levi elected to just observe her until that moment came, watching the concentration on her face as she pinned her sable locks up with slender fingers.

The back of her neck was pale and elegant. And soft. He knew this already. She twisted slightly to pluck a pin from her pocket, her waist curving pleasantly beneath the fitted style of her dress. He watched her back arch again as she brought the pin to her hair, only then noticing the lack of splint on her arm.

She was getting ready to go somewhere. He needed to speak up now while they still had time. It had taken nearly every ounce of control to not rush over here after his conversation with Dennard; but seeing Mikasa now—oblivious to his presence, bathed in a sleepy glow from the midday sun and looking _very much alive—_ he could feel the familiar tightening of trepidation in his gut.

And just like that, her dark eyes snapped to meet his in the mirror, widening ever so slightly as she focused on his form. Her nimble fingers paused in their work, mouth parting in a silent _oh._ Levi reminded himself why he was there, putting aside any thoughts of pale skin or slender waists or that _damn bed_ as he stalked toward her. Her cheeks bloomed with color.

“Levi, I—“

“You can’t come here.” He halted about two feet away from her. “You can’t come to the Underground.”

Mikasa looked about ready to turn inside out. The blush from before had disappeared, her face pallid. Her hands slowly fell away from her hair, and she tilted her face down, eyes leaving his in the mirror. “Is this...is this about that night—”

“No,” his eyes flickered to the bed again despite himself. “It’s not. The kid, Dennard—don’t ask me how it’s possible—but she has these visions. More often than not the things she sees come to fruition. Her mother’s death, her dad’s.” Mikasa met his gaze once more, a look of unease dawning across her face. “She’s seen yours.”

Her voice was steady when she spoke, soft. “Why are you telling me this?”

He scoffed in exasperation. “Mikasa—"

“Wait, just stop.” She spun to face him straight on. “I’m not going to just...this doesn’t change anything.”

Levi couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d slapped him. “It changes _everything.”_

She appeared _way_ too detached for his comfort. “I’m not afraid of dying.”

“I know, and that’s what concerns me.”

“Since when did you let _worry_ get in the way of duty?”

“Duty?” Stubborn, _stubborn_ woman. “Fine. What if I ordered you not to go?” That panic he’d wrangled into submission was starting to rear its ugly head again.  

Mikasa’s gaze was solemn. “It’s not up to you, Levi. I’ve become an integral piece to this operation.” She walked to the desk, the fabric of her skirt caressing his leg as she brushed past him. “There will always be people depending on us. You said it yourself.”

“Fuck what I said.” He sounded desperate. He _was_ desperate.

“Levi.”

He followed her. “I didn’t realize you were so keen to play the martyr.”

It was a feeble dig, and they both knew it.

“How does it happen?”

“Excuse me?”

She lifted her face to the ceiling, eyes closed. “My death.”

Levi braced both hands on the desk, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “Look, your _death_ doesn’t have to fucking happen if you don’t come looking for me in the first place.”

“So she’s certain it happens in the Underground?”

“You’re not listening—"

Mikasa’s head snapped back to him, eyes burning. “No, _you_ aren’t. I asked you a question and you keep dancing around it.”

Levi pushed away from the table to face her. “Well, she didn’t exactly describe the gory details, brat. She saw you die and it happened in the Underground.”

“And you believe her?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Mikasa finally displayed the barest hint of agitation, her brow creasing as she processed the information. “And you believe there’s a way to prevent this from happening?”

“I do, and it’s called keeping your ass here. You’re still recovering, anyway. You can use that.”

She was already shaking her head, a bitter laugh bubbling past her lips. “Too late.”

He was angry again, impatient with her stubbornness. “How’s it ‘too late,’ Mikasa?”

He already had an inkling, just hoped it was wrong—please let it be her pride talking and not her _duty_. Don’t let her get anymore involved. His stomach gave a sickening lurch as she brought him up to speed, and he _hated_ himself for leaving that day. If he had just stayed…

“My role in all this is far too integral, whether you like it or not. Rubie thinks she has us in her pocket. _Me_ , in particular. I spoke with Erwin again this morning, and he thinks we can use this—play her at her own game.” She looked over his shoulder to the clock on the wall. “I’m meeting Rubie soon.”

He was reminded how _desperately_ he needed a haircut as he carded his fingers through the messy locks. “Since when have you all decided to keep me in the dark? Where the fuck was Hanji, anyway? She should never have left you alone with her that night—“

“In case you’d forgotten, you’re practically in my head all the damned time. And no one’s keeping you in the dark,” she growled, jabbing a finger at him. “I’m not a child, Levi. I don’t need a chaperone.” He started to protest, but she spoke over the top of him. “The main focus of that day was to confirm Rubie’s identity. Erwin’s orders were to do whatever necessary to avoid rousing her suspicion.” She tensed and glanced around the room, as if the walls themselves had suddenly decided to listen. She lowered her voice to a murmur. “But I saw an opportunity that night, and I took it. Since then, I’ve been getting closer to her, letting her think she’s got me.”

Levi shook his head. “And what if she _does_ get you? You cannot underestimate this woman—”

“If you don’t trust me, trust Erwin. He’s thought through every outcome.”

“Clearly not this one.”

Mikasa shook her head. “Don’t you see? It couldn’t have gone better. He managed to veto the supposed visit to her brother and buy us more time.”

She had an eerily familiar, resolute expression on her face. It was different from the youthful bravado he’d witnessed Jaeger or Isabel wear. This one was more stoic, and _far_ too resigned. 

“We can’t keep doing this dance forever, though. Eventually, we’ll need to make a move, and that will most likely end with me in the Underground. As I said before, I’m willing to sacrifice—”

Levi brought his fist down on the desk— _hard—_ a resounding crack that rattled the throwing knives. “Fucking _listen to yourself!”_ His volume seemed to surprise her more than the strike. “You come here, you die. This is me _protecting you!”_

Mikasa wouldn’t look at him, only stared at some point out the window. She was deathly quiet, chin raised and jaw set.

Levi wanted to break something—throw the chair, _anything._ She clearly wasn’t understanding the gravity of the situation. How was she not balking at this? “You. Will. Die.” He repeated, grinding the words out through his teeth, gripping the edge of the desk to keep from hitting it again.

“Do we get you out?”

“What?”

She turned to look at him then, dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. “In her vision, did Dennard see anything else besides me? Did anyone else die? Did we get the two of you out?” Her voice was strong despite her visible emotion.

He wanted to lie. But he couldn’t. Not to her. “I don’t know.”

She only nodded, eyes downcast and face solemn. “Alright, then.”

His chest felt like it might cave inward, the slump of defeat tugging on what remained of that wretched space. Hell, at this point, he wasn’t above begging; he’d already thrown his dignity out the damned window, so he might as well grovel. “Tell Erwin.” She was shaking her head. “He’s not going to risk someone as valuable as you. You tell him about this and he’ll...”

The words died on his tongue when he felt her touch his hand, and he looked down to see her fingers reaching along the table’s surface. She brushed her thumb across his knuckles, turning his hand so his palm faced upward, tracing across the lines there.

He flicked his gaze back to hers, utterly beaten. “Just don’t do anything stupid, alright?” He’d intended it as an order, but it sounded far too pleading. “You keep your head down and this might turn out to be nothing. Don’t be a hero.”

The corner of Mikasa’s mouth twitched, eyes twinkling as she regarded him from beneath dark lashes. “You sure you don’t have a heart, captain?”

Levi didn’t share in her mirth. He did, however, take a small amount of satisfaction in her surprised gasp when his fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her toward him. Her body was warm against his, the puffs of her breath soft. It felt like he was holding an open flame, but he greeted the burn, knew that it went beyond any unseen tether linking their minds.

He reached out with his other hand, and she tensed at the delicate brush of his fingers against her lower back, pulling her closer. “How’s your arm?”

She blinked at him, slow on the uptake. “Oh, uh, fine. Hanji took off the wrappings this morning.”

A dark wisp of her hair had sprung free from its clip, and he watched her pale throat convulse as he tucked the tendril back behind her ear. Her skin was warm and soft, unlike his hands, the calluses on his fingers. He knew he’d find the same roughness on hers; both their bodies bore the permanent markings of a soldier. Her face, however, was smooth. _Feminine._

Her pulse hammered hot and quick beneath his fingers as he trailed them down the side of her neck, across her clavicle—her chest, which rose and fell with shallow breaths. He followed the subtle curve of her waist, thumb straying over her hip to gently press against her lower abdomen.

“I could feel you.” Just the memory of how she’d felt—how she’d _sounded_ when she came—made his pulse hammer and his head feel light. His fingers itched to feel her skin.

Mikasa made a small sound in the back of her throat. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t use that to make me change my mind.”

He didn’t really understand her logic; but her voice was strained, words jumbled, so maybe she didn’t either. And, really, there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could _make_ Mikasa Ackerman do. “I’m not _using_ it,” he replied, turning his head to brush his nose against the smooth line of her jaw. “Just _remembering_ it.”

She shuddered, hands gripping his shirt. “It’s nearly the hour. I need to go. I need to meet Rubie.”

From the safety of her shoulder, Levi sent a disgruntled look heavenward, finding a new reason to detest the redhead. The sigh she made when his lips found her neck sent a jolt straight to his groin, and he gripped her side harder. “Don’t talk about _her_ , please.”

“Don’t start something we can’t finish,” She countered, glancing at the clock before looking back at him, her pupils full and bottomless.

Out of time. Always out of time. She grabbed his chin, pulling his attention back to her.

“I’m going to get you out of there, Levi. I’m going to get you both out of there,” her hands moved to the collar of his shirt, holding him in place, pinning him with those onyx eyes, “and then I’m going to kill that fucking Rubie bitch.”

She barely got the words out before his mouth was on hers. She met him eagerly, pressing her body flush against his, making him groan when she slid her fingers through his hair. _Fuck_ did it feel good when she did that thing with her tongue.

Without breaking the kiss, he cornered his gaze to the hateful timekeeper on her wall. _A quarter till_. He moved to her neck, tongue laving across the porcelain flesh and making her groan.

“Levi...Levi, please I need to…”

Her words were interrupted by a gasp as his hand slid forward across her clothed crotch, fingers curling. _Too much skirt._ “What do you need to do, Mikasa? Tell me what you need.”

She gave him a side glance, her expression equal parts reproachful and torpid with lust as she repeated, “don’t start something you can’t finish.” Those pretty, pink lips parted on another gasp as he ran the back of his first two fingers against her.

“I better make it quick then.” Levi’s mouth continued its exploration of her neck, while his hands went to work gathering the hem of her dress. She reached for his belt, but he only swatted away her hands. “No time,” he rasped, yanking her underpants down across her thighs and earning another one of those breathy little sighs.

Mikasa’s teeth slid against his jaw, a curse escaping on her exhale as he touched her scorching flesh for the first time. She was so incredibly soft. Here, but everywhere else too—breasts, hips, thighs, _mouth._ It was all he could do not to rut against her hip like a hormonal teen. She made another attempt at his belt, but he pressed her ass back against the desk.

“Levi,” she protested, her underwear slipping to her ankles. She stepped free from the garment, and he grasped the back of her left knee, hauling her leg around his hip. Another curse left her mouth as she ground against his working hand.

He glanced at the clock again. She was getting close, but he needed to speed things up. “Did you touch yourself like this?” Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, the sight as tempting as it was erotic, and he couldn’t help but lean forward and recapture it for himself.

She threw her head back as his thumb joined the fray, exposing the pale column of her throat once more to the graze of his teeth and the press of his tongue. Levi wanted to mutter all sorts of dark little promises against her throat—questions and revelations too. Instead, he only breathed, “let me _feel.”_

And she did.

Levi gasped in surprise as the connection ripped open between them, the sudden onrush of sensation almost painful in its intensity. Mikasa gave a small whine when his thumb increased its pressure, and she pushed the feeling across the bond.

She quickened around his fingers—he could _feel_ the peak that wasn’t his—and he pulled her close to swallow her cries with his mouth. Mikasa clung to his shoulders as her pleasure wracked her frame, finally pushing his fingers away when it became too much.

“Brat,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers.

His hand was sticky. She saw him inspecting the dampness there and grew flustered, glancing around the table for something he could use to clean himself with. There was nothing.

Levi watched her eyes widen as he licked his fingers, silently delighting once again in having inspired such a reaction in her. Perhaps she thought his actions out of character. Maybe they were—but he had a hard time finding anything filthy about Mikasa.

“I think you could make it to Erwin’s on time at a light jog,” he deadpanned.

Mikasa snorted, which then dissolved into a breathy laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head, eyes trailing over him. “I wish we had more time.”

He cast another glance at the clock. “Weren’t you the one waxing on about _duties_ just a moment ago.

She glared, but he found the sight oddly attractive. That, and seeing her slumped against the table, all flushed and disheveled, was doing nothing for the problem in his pants.

“Ok, I’m going to go now.”

“Ok.”

“Right.”

She bent and shimmied her underwear back into place, and it was all he could do not to hoist her onto the table and make Rubie wait for another fifteen minutes. He carded a hand through his hair.

“Fuckssake. Get going. Damn brat.”

“Wait,” she said, hand reaching but not grasping.

He waited for her to speak, watched the conflict play out on her face. Her hand retreated back to her side, along with whatever she had wanted to say. He understood, though. “There will be time after.”

Time to talk? To figure out _whatever the hell_ this thing was between them? Maybe, but maybe not—he wasn’t one to make empty promises. She didn’t question him, however, merely nodded.

And then he was gone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;dr — Dennard has a vision that Mikasa is gonna bite the dust. She tells Levi, he flips out and tells Mikasa. They fight—he wants her to stay away from the Underground and Rubie, but she’s become far too involved in the mission to do so. They argue, they make up, and he...ahem...does naughty things to her.
> 
> Apologies for the late update on this one. The scene between Levi and Mikasa tripped me up for a few reasons. For example, I actually cut the smut at first (I know, _I knowww_ ) because I thought it was...I dunno too ooc for them? Maybe it is still. I finally had to just say fuck it...literally. Also, trying to keep this at an M rating but might be toeing the line. You let me know.


	16. Kashmir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. God. A month? Has it really been than long? Wow, I feel like Persephone resurfacing from the Underworld only it was work that dragged me down there. Thank you guys _so _much for your patience and continued support. As gratitude (and an apology?), here's a double update. Boom. Love you.__

 

The color had faded some, no longer a deep shade of carmine but something softer, dulled. She traced a thumb across the fabric, which was softened from wear, before bringing it to her nose. Dust.

The weather had finally snapped. The brutal, bone-biting wind had sent her on a nigh thirty minute hunt for warmer attire—a certain article, to be precise. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have needed to search for the scarf.

She was late, thanks to the mad forage, but had no qualms about keeping the Red Woman waiting. Let her wait. She’d packed light for the journey, gathering only what she could fit into a standard-issue haversack, but the scarf-hunt had driven her to upend the usual tidiness of her room. Levi would’ve had a fit.

There it was, that increasingly common flutter in her gut whenever she thought of him. Which was often. She looked to the desk, the memory of what they’d done there—what  _ he  _ had done—making the flutter swell.

And he’d seen her cry. She’d  _ cried. Idiot. _

Mikasa shook her head in frustration, pushing all thoughts of the captain from her mind as she spent the next ten minutes hastily tidying the space. The thought of leaving it in such disarray didn’t sit well with her, especially because she wouldn’t be returning for a while. That is, if she returned at all...

With her quarters in a more respectable condition and scarf wrapped snug about her neck, Mikasa slung her bag across her shoulder and left the room without a backward glance.

She was halfway down the hall when her neck suddenly prickled with gooseflesh—a different sensation from the bond, but familiar. Like she was being watched. She looked back the way she’d come to see a pair of green eyes staring at her from the opposite end of the corridor.

Eren looked startled, almost like he’d just been passing by and had looked up just by chance. They regarded each other for a few beats—too far away to speak, but too close to walk away without some form of acknowledgement.

He made a stilted shuffle in her direction before pausing to look somewhere else, as if deciding whether or not to go to her. Finally, he mumbled something she couldn’t hear and approached.

“Did Rubie send you to look for me?” A weak opener, but she couldn’t think of anything better to say.

Eren shook his head, the motion freeing a strand of chestnut hair from its tie. He stopped a few feet away from her, the distance odd and gaping. “Are you taking off soon?” His smile was strained.

She nodded, unconsciously fingering the material at her neck. His eyes caught the motion, a brief flash of something pained dancing across his face.

Mikasa knew this feeling well, knew that they both felt it—guilt. 

“I’m afraid I’ve kept Rubie waiting. I took too long packing.”

He misunderstood, thinking she was attempting to extricate herself. “Oh, yes, I won’t keep you any longe—“

Mikasa flung her arms around his torso, pulling him into a tight embrace. Just like that, any discomfort between them was eliminated.  _ Familiar.  _ She felt him relax as his strong arms wrapped around her, his cheek coming to rest on top of her head. He’d gotten tall—it didn’t seem all that long ago that they had been roughly the same height.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair.

She tilted her head to look up at his face. “What for?”

Eren averted his gaze, brow furrowed, looking very much like that determined young boy who had saved her life all those years ago. “I haven’t been there for you these past weeks when you needed me most. After Heichou…” He shook his head. “It’s been hard for everyone, but I know it’s different for you.”

An unexpected tightness presented itself in Mikasa’s throat. She stared at the buttons on his shirt, hoping he couldn’t see the welling moisture in her eyes. “I don’t see how it’s any different for me,” she whispered.

“I never asked you about the incident. I guess I didn’t want to…” He screwed up his mouth, rethinking the words. “I thought I was giving you space, but really I left you when you needed me most.” He looked at her then, green eyes large. “And for that I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Eren.” There was no hiding the tears now. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She wanted to tell him everything, if only to end the lie that had been festering. It felt like a knife was being wedged between her ribs.

“No, no. I do. You don’t always need to be the strong one.” He thumbed the end of her scarf. “You and Armin spent most of our formative years picking me up, even when I sometimes dragged you down with me.”

She covered his hand with her own—ivory upon tan. “I knew what I was getting myself into. So did Armin. We’d do it all over again, too.”

Eren smiled—a soft look that she hadn’t seen in a while. “He would be proud of you.”

“Who?” She knew.

He chuckled, expression wry. “Heichou. He’d most likely insult you a few times, but it would really just be his way of telling you he was proud.” He became sincere again. “I know you had your disagreements, but I always admired the both of you. You’re two of the most honorable people I’ve ever met.”

_ Honorable.  _ He thought her honorable. It struck Mikasa then that this might very well be the last time she’d ever see Eren—that this would be the parting light he held her in brought her some comfort. Perhaps it was for the best that she  _ didn’t  _ return.

Eren’s face became concerned—she’d drifted. “Mikasa?”

She hid her face in his chest again. “I hope you know that everything I do is because I love you and Armin.”

He stiffened in her arms, hands coming to her shoulders and gently pushing her away to meet her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t put everyone before yourself so much. You deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Liar.”

If she didn’t leave now she never would. Worse, she might reveal too much. “I’ll work on it.” She stepped away from his embrace, wall coming up. “I have to go.”

Eren looked lost, and a bit frustrated—that look of concern still etched into his brow. She could have laughed at the irony; it seemed like only yesterday that all she had wanted was to be by his side. Now she was pushing him away.

_ To protect you. Please see it’s all to protect you. _

His own wall settled into place. That smiling mask—jovial where hers was stoic. “Alright. Hurry back, though.”

The knife twisted cruelly. “Bye, Eren.”

 

* * *

 

 

He was dreaming.

Once a rare phenomenon, in part because he rarely slept, but now seemed to be occurring with more frequency. It was this place, this damned underworld he never imagined returning to, that made him see things he’d thought long ago forgotten.

Faces, mostly. Unidentifiable—the essence of a person. His mother, Kenny, Farlan and Isabel. All dead people.

_ She  _ was there, as of late. The sense of her was stronger than the others—clearer. Maybe because she was still alive. Sometimes it was just a memory—something she’d said, the sound of her voice—and other times he was just keenly aware of her presence. Like she was just in the other room or behind a partition.

No matter the circumstance, dreams about her always ended the same way. Like all the others did, for that matter.  _ All dead people. _

He was hovering between that sleep-wake realm that both dulled and piqued his senses, the melody of her voice drowned out by a new sound—a repetitive, cacophonous clang.  _ Metal on metal, key against key. _

Levi had sworn early on in his confinement to kill that fat-bastard jailor soon as the opportunity should present itself for him to do so. He’d strangle him with that key chain—no, he’d make him  _ eat _ the keys,  _ then  _ he’d strangle him with the chain.

“Quit yer cryin’, you shit.”

Fully awake now, he stared at the dark ceiling, listening to the jailor grouse and grumble as he hauled Dennard into her cell. There was a dull thump—he must have thrown her—before the keys erupted into a chorus of jangles as he thumbed through the assortment.

“Oi, dog. I know yer fakin’. Get yer ass up.”

Levi didn’t move. He could hear the guard locking up Dennard’s cell, followed by the thud of his boots as he turned.

“Don’t make me stick a leash on ya, boy. Get up.”

Levi maintained his rebellion for a few moments longer, waiting until his own cell lock clicked open before swinging his legs over the edge of the cot.

“Alright, you know the drill. Hands out for the cuffs. Let’s not keep mister Rickard waitin’.”

Levi pawed a strand of hair away from his eyes before offering his wrists. A woeful sniffle sounded from the opposite cell. He tried searching the shadows for the Titan girl, but was tugged down the hall and away.

The guard, as per usual, kept Levi in front as they marched through the winding catacombs of the Redeemer fortress. The trek was apparently tedious for the corpulent man; his labored breathing rattled behind Levi in great, fetid wafts, and his heavy tread echoed across the stone in time to the  _ cling-ca-cling  _ of his keys.

“Stop here,” the jailor huffed, placing a meaty hand on Levi’s shoulder. They’d avoided the well-trodden thoroughfare bisecting the Redeemer camp to stop before a secluded stone chamber, its entrance curtained by a red drape.

“Oi, Pieter. Ya in there? Y’gotta chair?” There was a grunt of affirmation from within the chamber. “Right.” The jailor whipped open the drape and shoved Levi through.

There was a man seated before a table in the center of the small chamber. Pieter, most likely. The only light came from the lamp at his feet and cast an eerie glow on his pointed features—not a man, a boy, barely sixteen. Levi glanced around the space, seeing only shadows and dank walls, and absolutely nothing else that offered insight.

Pieter jerked his chin in acknowledgement. “So this the Black Dog?”

The jailor shooed him from the chair. “Git yer ass out and go fetch Rikard. Don’ be askin’ unnecessary questions.”

The youth left the chamber with a grumble, curtain flapping angrily behind him. The jailor forced Levi into the vacant seat, uncuffing one of his hands and bringing them both behind his back to fasten the chain to the seat. The lantern slammed onto the table, momentarily blinding him despite its feeble glow. He could hear the jailor rustling with something in the shadows behind him.  _ Water, metal on wood, sloshing. A bucket?— _

The sudden smite of gelid water over his head was enough to make Levi gasp aloud. He jolted in his chair, straining against the chain as the icy droplets soaked his body.

“You stink,” the guard jeered.

Levi gritted his teeth, both against the cold and the insult _ — _ because he  _ didn’t  _ stink _.  _ The conditions may not have been perfect, but he made good use of the basin his Redeemer hosts saw so nicely to replenish each evening. “Was that necessary?”

The jailor chuckled, continuing his noisy rummage in the dark. Levi steeled himself for another bucket. “Did I stutter? You stink.” He plodded to the table and threw a thick piece of cloth onto its surface. It landed with a dull thud, alluding to something heavy within. “Filthy dog with a filthy coat. Gotta get ya all trimmed up.” He whipped open the cloth to reveal a crude and rusted pair of scissors.

Levi’s eyes widened beneath his sopping fringe—considering all the grace the jailor possessed, he’d probably end up taking more ear than hair. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

The jailor paused, scissors held in his fist. “You say somethin’,  _ dog?” _

Levi tilted his head into the lantern light. “I said, you bring those shitty things anywhere near me, I’ll shove them up your ass.”

The backhand was decidedly less accosting than the water but smarted nonetheless. The jailor chuckled again, the scissors opening and closing with a gritty whine. “Good luck with that, dog. You bein’ tied up an’ all.” 

Levi worked his jaw, eyes riveted by the corroded jaws of metal as they approached his fringe. His foot shot forward and connected with the jailor’s nose with a  _ crack _ . The scissors sailed through the air before clattering across the dark floor.

_“Fucking dog!”_ The man grasped a handful of Levi’s sodden shirt. “You sunnabitch. It’s a trim _and_ a geldin’ for ya, then.”

Levi worked his boots up the man’s prominent gut and pushed, the chair wobbling dangerously beneath him. He grimaced in disgust as the jailor pawed one fleshy hand across his face, the other still fimly clasping his shirt. The chair tilted on back legs, wood creaking beneath the struggle.

“Oi!” came a sudden shout from the door. Both men paused their brawl, heads snapping in unison to Rikard at the curtain. “The fuck is this? I told you to cut his hair, not ride him like a goat.”

The jailor turned his head back to Levi, expression wicked as he released his shirt and let the chair fall backward onto the floor. Levi tucked his chin at the last moment, but the impact still jarred the breath from his lungs.

“My apologies, sir,” the guard grumbled, sounding far from apologetic. “The dog proved difficult.”

Rikard bent down to retrieve the scissors, expression bleak. “Get out.” The guard faltered, clearly expecting some repartee from his superior. Rikard’s viridescent gaze darkened. The jailor left without a word.

The humility of laying on the floor like a recumbent beetle was not lost on Levi, and his growing chill was only exacerbated by his damp clothes. Rikard didn’t acknowledge him for a moment, moving to the table with deliberate steps to deposit the scissors. The lantern’s glow turned his hair to flame and accentuated his aquiline profile. “Sorry about that. I got held up,” he said, bending and righting the chair. Levi’s head throbbed at the sudden change in orientation. The sound of jangling keys filled the air, followed by the click of the cuffs. “I guess this is better. We can speak freely now.” Levi hesitated before bringing his hands from behind his back and massaging the bruised flesh of his wrists. He chanced a glance to the redheaded man. Rikard draped the cuffs across the small table and grabbed the scissors again. “Conversations in cuffs are often one-sided. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Levi followed the man’s movements, noting the decidedly more adroit way he handled the trimmers than the jailor had. “What do you want?” He felt Rikard’s fingers against the back of his head, gentle as they pressed his chin down to his chest.

“You know what I appreciate about you, Levi? There’s no bullshit with you. No pretense.” The scissors scraped along his nape, cold and solid. “I could use men like you.”

Levi scoffed through his teeth. “If you’re trying to curry favor by giving me a haircut, it won’t work.”

Small snipping sounds filled the silence, loose hair tickling the back of Levi’s neck and shoulders as it fell. “No, I’m rather hopeful that you’ll join us of your own volition.” The chair tottered back as Levi wrenched himself to standing. Rikard took a step away, face calm, hands slightly raised and placating. “Easy.”

“My own  _ volition?  _ Exactly what part of keeping me locked in this shithole for weeks on end is supposed to  _ entice me?”  _ He wiped hair trimmings off his shoulder. “Furthermore, why would I align myself with people who get off on kidnapping and torturing children?”

Rikard’s left brow rose at that. “Kidnap…” He appeared to contemplate the phrase, gaze growing distant. “You know, I blame my sister for most of this miscommunication.” He placed the scissors onto the table between them and folded his arms, expression still thoughtful. “Rubie is...has always been angry. And while she has good reason to be, oftentimes that anger has ruled her more than it probably should.” He smirked and looked up, conspiratorial gleam in his green eyes. “I believe Eren Jaeger shares a few traits with my sister.”

Levi moved the overgrown bangs covering his vision, using the brief shelter of his hand to steal a glance at the scissors glinting on the table. “I don’t care how crazy your sister is.  _ You’re  _ the one carving lines into that Titan kid.”

Rikard nodded, thoughtful. “So you know what she is.” Not a question. “I figured. Let me ask you, then. How is what I do any different from the  _ experiments  _ your scientist runs, hm?”

_ Just how deep have these people gone?  _ Levi swallowed his surprise and fronted it with indignation.  _ “Consent.” _

Rikard had the audacity to laugh—a dark, hollow sound. “Go ahead and judge, Levi. You can hold yourself and your surface-level buddies as high above us as you want,” he gripped the back of the chair, leaning forward, “but you’re still one of us. Your  _ people  _ were  _ our  _ people.”

His _ people?  _ This was sounding awfully similar to the conversation he’d had with the Red Woman. She’d spoken of justice, of redemption.  _ The people above don’t know suffering, they don’t know pain… _

“Our people come from a long line of suffering, Levi. Yours and mine.” Rikard rested his elbow on the chair back, hand coming to his brow in a picture of thoughtfulness—as if contemplating at which point to begin in a vast story. “There was a time when the clans used to coexist, when honor was more than a concept but a way of life. The Ackermans were the mightiest, known for their incredible abilities. They were warriors, entrusted guardians to the crown.” A bitter laugh escaped Rikard’s lips. “A damn lot of good that did them after the war. Where was Fritz’s  _ honor  _ then?”

Levi shuddered in his damp clothes. He could reach the scissors if he lunged, but only if he caught Rikard unprepared. “No, I take it back. Your sister might be fucked up, but you’re the crazy one.”

“Go ahead.” The redheaded man jerked his chin at the table, the scissors, and stepped away from the chair, giving space. “Not that you’d need them. Even locked in—what was it, a shithole for weeks on end? You’d still win that fight, Levi.”

Neither man moved—one watching, the other waiting. Levi angled his head, eyes squinting in suspicion. “You know, killing you would be enough. I’m not a fool to try and escape, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I bet you could if you had that woman with you.”

Even the allusion to Mikasa was enough to make his gut turn to stone. He kept his features impassive. “If she were here, you’d be dead.”

Rikard grinned, white canines gleaming. The look was such a contrast from his earlier pensiveness, and he suddenly looked eerily like his sibling. “You know, I sent someone back to the tavern after that day. The place was crawling with police, but he got in alright. You know what he told me? He said it was like a wild animal had been let loose in there.”

A vivid memory danced across Levi’s mind—Mikasa’s hands and thighs slick with blood, the gurgling rattle from the dying Redeemer beneath her, the determined expression on her face.

“You think  _ she  _ did that?”

Rikard’s green eyes were bright and far too perceptive. “Oh, I  _ know  _ she did.” Rikard approached the table and picked up the scissors with a confidence that was as unnerving as it was irritating. “But the both of you together…” The man gave a low whistle.

He could still kill him. Rikard had the scissors, but he was right about the odds.

“However unlikely I am to join your circus show, you’ll have even shittier luck convincing Mikasa.”

He regretted saying her first name—too personal. “Tell me...” Rikard’s tone, the twitch in his smirk, suggested he’d caught the slip. “Would she die for you?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m not Eren fucking Jaeger.” Those eyes were  _ very  _ perceptive. “And it’s not like the brat and I have always gotten along.”

“Until recently, that is.” Rikard scrutinized the scissors, picking thoughtfully at their rusted joint. Levi remained mute, having learned it was best to keep silent than to ramble when caught on the off foot. “I’d imagine the two of you had a good bit of time to get to know each other over the course of your little mission. Bury the hatchet, perhaps.” Green eyes snapped up, hoping to  _ pounce  _ on a slip in his composure. There was none. “You probably had a lot to catch up on, too, given how long you were away running errands for Erwin Smith. She’d grown up in that time, no?”

“Is there a point to all this?” Levi’s clothes we’re beginning to dry stiff and uncomfortable to his skin.

“Why, you got somewhere to be? You sound impatient.”

“And you sound like you’re talking out your ass, so just get to the point already.”

Rikard tilted his chin up and regarded Levi down the hooked surface of his nose, as if perusing a convoluted map. “You’re more than a lackey, Levi. And you’re no dog—though you’ve certainly spent enough years in servitude to them.  _ Honor  _ isn’t lost on you. You’re smart, but there are some things you don’t know.” He leaned forward to punctuate his words. “So sit back down.”

Levi scoffed, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you’re  _ curious.” _

There was a peculiar stillness within Levi then, a marked absence of restlessness that he would sooner consider failure than subservience. Either way, it made him ashamed. Rubie may have been the leader in all this, but her brother was no less precarious. Levi wasn’t about to eat from his hand, however.

But, yes, he  _ was  _ curious.

Still, he felt that all the kicks, the insults, the  _ degradation  _ combined in his time in this hellhole didn’t compare to sitting his ass back down in that chair. Because only then did he truly feel like a dog.   
  



	17. Immigrant Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of that double update ;)

 

It was dusk by the time they reached the inn, and Mikasa was reminded just how long it had been since she’d ridden a horse—her backside would be protesting the journey for a few days to come.

“Only got a single left,” the innkeeper monotoned, face bored as she bounced a toddler on her hip. “I can give ya a couple ‘a extra blankets and what not, if ya want.”

Rubie, her practiced charm not a hair out of place, made a show of hemming and hawing for the sake of Mikasa, who in turn insisted that sharing a room would be fine with her. Their disgruntled hostess lifted the toddler to her other hip before grumbling a terse “follow me, then” and escorting them to the room.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright down there?” Rubie’s face was the picture of concern as she watched Mikasa assemble the spare pillows and blankets on the floor.

“I’ll be fine, thanks. I’ve slept on worse.” In truth, she preferred the arrangement; the odds of Rubie making a move tonight were slim, but Mikasa felt more secure with her back to the fireplace and an adequate view of both the door and the bed. Sleep was out of the question.

The redhead sighed but didn’t press the matter further. “I don’t know how you do it. Being a soldier and all. It must be so grueling.”

“It can be.” Mikasa added another log to the fire. She’d been harboring an unshakeable chill since they’d left that morning. Eren’s dejected face replayed over and over in her mind, her gut twisting tighter each time. The fire crackled and spat as it consumed the fresh log, and for a moment she was lost in the orange dance of the flame.

“Sleep well, Mikasa.” Something in the way Rubie said her name, the absence of the diminutive and grating _Mika,_ made her pause. _Could it be tonight?_

She looked over at the bed, face controlled. “You too.”

Rubie slept on her side, her back to the rest of the room, which seemed both daring _and_ suspect. She never moved, however, even when Mikasa thudded her left boot across the floor after nearly tripping across her spread of blankets. _Idiot._ She stifled a curse, heart rate and irritation elevated. Sleep was definitely out of the question.

Boots consolidated and haversack within reach, Mikasa finally lay down beside the hearth. The pillow wasn’t bad—firmer than preferred, but at least it was clean. She stared up at the ceiling, at the strange shapes and shadows cast upon the black by the flickering flame. It felt so long ago that she’d lain back to back with a certain captain in a room much like this. They’d been strangers then. She’d _hated_ him.

Not so strange now. He’d seen parts of her mind, her _being_ that she’d only shared with a select few and would have never thought with him. Did the attraction come first or was it a byproduct? She once thought the latter, and therefore believed whatever she felt to be a hollow emotion. Fickle. And maybe it was, but the more time she spent with it, fanned its flames in her gut, the more she came to realize just how little she cared about the how and the why. That, and she was most likely going to die, so...

A very primitive pang gripped her chest—because _dammit_ she was only human. It was hers alone to harbor, however, and she pushed the fear back into the dark, neglected corner of her mind where it so often resided. She was acting paranoid. _But it could happen tonight._

She rolled onto her side with a huff, facing the fire. To sleep watching the door—or to appear to sleep, for that matter—would look suspicious. Obsessing over it would do her no good, either. Her best bet was to stick to the plan, and that meant staying put and keeping her head. And waiting. For the inevitable. It was like waiting for an impending storm, or marching into battle. The entire day had felt like one big trip to the gallows; the destination was inevitable, the _journey_ was intolerable. She needed to distract her mind, so set to watching the fire twist and flutter, counted the embers. It would all be ash by morning...

Mikasa jolted slightly, realizing she had dozed. She’d allowed her mind to wander, her defenses to slacken. _Stupid._ Panic erupted in her chest, and it took all her willpower not to whip the covers off and check all corners. Instead, ever so slowly, she slid her hand along the sheets, pausing when she felt the cold hilt of her knife under her pillow.

She waited there—weapon in hand, ears straining—relying entirely on instinct to tell her the exact moment to move. _Wait._ The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, all of her senses coming alive and narrowing down to a razor-keen focus. There was movement behind her, something felt but not heard—a shift in the air, a second heartbeat. _It’s happening tonight, then._ The knife was free of the pillow, an extension of her arm that she kept close to her chest like some deadly telson, poised and ready to strike—

Levi’s hands came together around the blade, stopping its arch between his palms. His gray eyes angled to the metal tip which hovered a mere centimeters from his cheek. “Use your head.”

Mikasa’s heart was a wild animal in her chest, and it was all she could do not to groan in relief. Then she became incredibly angry. His face was far too composed and just a _hair_ too smug for her liking. That he would deem a lecture necessary enraged her to no end.

“No,” he rebutted, shaking his head, “use your head.” He released the knife and tapped the center of her forehead with his index. “I can talk as loud as I want, you gotta use this.”

Well, now she was just embarrassed. She glared pointedly at his arms caged around her, trapping her. Did he really need to _loom?_

“That was my fault,” he murmured. “I seem to have a bad habit of sneaking up on you.”

She opened her mouth to say something—force of habit—but he arched a brow, and she shut it again.

_I was sleeping._

He huffed out a breath through his nose, eyes finding a space above her head. “Why is it always a knife.”

_It’s called a safety measure, shorty._

His jaw twitched. “Actually, I think it’s called being trigger-happy, _brat.”_

Oh, she _strongly_ detested not being able to speak aloud at a moment like this. She was angry, her pulse still spiked. _You know, you don’t always need to sneak around. One of these days, I might just be quicker than you._

He opened his mouth to fire back but quickly shut it again as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings. “Oi, where the hell are you?” Mikasa stayed silent and watched him scan the room. He glanced down at her expectantly. Slowly, realization dawned across his face, and he stole another look around the room, piecing the scene together. His eyes landed on the bed, on Rubie. “Mikasa,” he began, head snapping back to her. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “You going to tell me the plan here, or should I pry it out of your head. We haven’t tried that yet, but I bet I could do it.”

Mikasa closed her eyes and took in a breath to gather her thoughts. _I’m accompanying Rubie on a trip to meet her brother in the countryside._ She opened her eyes once more, refusing to shy away from the slate-blue orbs burning above her. _Hanji and her squad have been tailing us since the start of the journey. As per Erwin’s instructions, they are not to engage with either Rubie or myself. No matter what._ Levi didn’t move. He may not have been breathing. She pressed on. _Somewhere along the way—don’t know when or how—but she is most likely going to attempt to kidnap me._

The fire hissed like a demon, the only sound in the dead-quiet room. Mikasa couldn’t remember her earlier chill, suddenly feeling far too warm next to the open flame and with Levi above her. His gaze had drifted to some unseeing point by her shoulder, lost in thought. She studied his face, trying to decipher the blank expression there.

_I should have told you sooner._

Another crack from the fireplace. She steeled herself for one or both of his two, probable reactions: the unbreachable wall—that stony facade that let nothing in and nothing out—or the quiet, dreadful anger.

Finally, in a quiet voice, gaze caught somewhere she couldn’t see, he said, “they’re going to use you against me.”

There was a note of resolve to his words, like he was acknowledging some worst fear come to light. When he looked at her, that envisioned anger was nowhere to be found, and she saw only a weariness that carved itself a space to haunt beneath his eyes and the downcurve of his mouth.

He shook his head then, as if to move on from the matter—because even then he was strategizing. “I asked you once to have faith in me.” She remembered. The fight ring. “Well, it goes both ways.”

By now, she’d seen enough of this man to witness the cracks in his wall—seen it crumble only to reassemble itself with a practiced ease and rapidity that rivaled her own. But here, _here_ there were no cracks or tumbling, no catastrophic felling of his defenses. Here he merely opened a door. Inside his fortress he remained, and probably always would, but the invitation was loud. His _trust._ Her mouth parted slightly at the revelation, and his eyes dropped down to her lips, expression softening.

Rubie shifted in the bed, the rustle of blankets jarring them from the moment. Mikasa readied the knife on reflex, tip arching dangerously close to Levi’s nose. “You know what, I’m taking this away.” He plucked the weapon from her hand before she could react, leaning across her to place it beside her boots. She could _smell_ him this close–his skin, his hair. _Soap._ The fabric of his shirt shifted as he stretched over her, revealing the point between his neck and shoulder…

She felt rather than heard him gasp as her teeth descended upon the exposed skin. His entire body went rigid above her, his breath halting. Now that she had him, she wasn’t entirely sure what to do. The bond hummed between them, primal and insistent, and gave her the strangest urge to bite _harder._ She refrained. He didn’t move.

Tentatively, without relinquishing her teeth from his shoulder, she pressed the tip of her tongue against the soft flesh. His other hand tightened on her hip—she hadn’t noticed he’d put it there—and another breath of air escaped him. Her traitorous mouth curved upward against his skin, and she was unable to maintain her bite.

He was moving as soon as her jaw loosened—hands finding both her wrists and pulling her arms above her head, knife forgotten amongst the blankets. “Could’ve dropped the knife, _brat.”_ His voice was strained.

Mikasa’s stomach clenched at the naked look of want in his eyes—the way his hair fell forward across his brow, the subtle flush of his cheeks. The tip of his nose slid against hers, eyelashes fluttering as he lowered himself ever so slowly.

_You cut your hair._

He halted. “Long story.”

His lips were soft and warm against hers, the kiss so very different from the others they’d shared. He was going slow, he was being _quiet._ This gentleness was not something she would have associated with Levi, and yet the ardor they’d both exhibited in the past suddenly seemed out of character for him. _This_ felt natural—like she’d peeled away the layers of his resolve and found the underlying tenderness there.

After a few moments, Levi finally broke the kiss, his head falling to her shoulder. He’d released her wrists, his elbows now bent and resting by her head. The position was oddly familiar—a prone variant of that time they’d clung to each other after she’d set his shoulder. She lifted a hand to said joint, fingers pressing against the strong muscles there before tracing lower over his ribs. He relaxed the slightest bit against her, stomach pressing to hers. She felt him hard against her hip.

_If she weren’t here…_

He was still above her, quiet as he listened to her voice in his head.

_...what would you do?_

The pillow shifted as he angled his face against hers, warm breath hitting her cheek. She arched against him. _“This_ is not the same.” His voice was quiet beside her ear, but there was tension there—an inflection she hadn’t heard from him before. “Touching you like this,” he clarified.

Mikasa could have groaned at the feeling of his hand carding through her hair, of his warm fingers against her scalp. She turned her head slightly so her brow met his. _How would you know?_

His stilled. The developments in their relationship, the _intimacy,_ had only occurred within the confines of the bond. Neither had a basis for anything.

_You think it’s different._

Not a question. Her hand left his ribs and slid lower, found the edge of his shirt, slipped underneath.

_How would you know?_

He blinked at her, gray eyes searching her face—for a trick, a clue, a _lie._ Mikasa cornered her gaze to the sleeping Rubie against her better judgment. She hadn’t moved, which could either be reassuring or cause for concern. Goosebumps erupted up her arms as Levi lowered his face into her neck. “I came here to tell you something, brat.” Her fingers splayed across his abdomen, curved back up his sides to feel his ribs expand with his breath. “...tell you something,” he whispered, and she smirked at the ceiling.

The floorboards in the hall gave a subtle creak.

It could be anything—another tenant moving about in the night, the inn itself shifting—but Levi and Mikasa were too conditioned to shrug off even the smallest of sounds as anything but a potential threat.

“It can wait,” Levi breathed, eyes upturned toward the door. “What I came to tell you, I mean. It’s something Rikard mentioned, about the Ackerman line.” Mikasa’s eyes widened, but he shook his head. “It can wait. You just…” His eyes roamed her face, brow softening. Another creak came from the hall, and she strained to listen above the rapid drumming of her pulse. “You just focus on your mission."

A heavy pang settled itself deep within Mikasa’s gut, and for the second time that day, she felt the terrible prick of emotion behind her eyes. She surged upward without thinking, hiding her face in his neck and pressing herself into his embrace, memorizing his smell. He relaxed against her, hand wedging beneath her back to pull her closer to him. She gritted her teeth against the lump in her throat, suddenly thankful for the ability to communicate without speaking. _I’m going to find you._ Her fingers met at his nape, trailing through the silky strands of his hair. _I’m going to get you out._

The air shifted, the door sliding open with a horrifying _click._ Levi’s breath released in a stilted, yet quiet exhale. His eyes were back on the door as she removed her arms from him. She lay there in deathly silence, listening to the press of foreign boots against the floor, watching Levi’s expression as he eyed the intruder. It was all she could do to keep her breathing even and to not leap from the blankets and attack.

With astonishing control, Levi lifted his hand from the pillow and brought his fingers across Mikasa’s face, shutting her eyelids. “You’re gonna be fine,” he whispered, but she could hear the anxiety in his voice. He lowered his forehead to hers once more, breath mingling with hers. “You stay alive, alright?”

Words wouldn’t form in her mind, any rational thought discarded in favor of _not panicking._ His lips were a brush against her brow, soft and comforting, and this time it was he who spoke through the bond.

_There will be time after._

The connection severed just a breath before the bag whipped over her head. She struggled against the hands grabbing at her shoulders and arms—that was what she was _supposed_ to do, and because the panic had finally broken free from its cage.

“Parker, get her legs.” The voice was deep, but female. Mikasa struck out with her foot, finding contact with what felt like a shin.

“Damn bitch. Flip her over.” A man, probably the one she struck. The wind was driven from her lungs as she was suddenly whipped onto her face, a knee driving itself into her back. The one called Parker finally managed to trap her legs, and she roared in frustration at being undeniably trapped. The bag was hot and stifling around her face, a strange smell clinging to its fabric.

“You got her?” She stiffened at the sound of Rubie’s voice. There came a strained grunt of affirmation from the woman kneeling on her back. “Let me see her.”

Her cheek thudded against the floorboards as the bag was torn off of her. She blinked and spluttered against the mess of her hair, another grunt of rage leaving her. Rubie had knelt beside her, face impassive in the firelight, but the other two Redeemers remained out of her field of vision.

“That went smoother than expected. Maybe the journey has made you weak.” Rubie reached out and swept the strands of hair from Mikasa’s face, her touch gentle _._

A proper response was critical—she’d already struggled, now came the next part. Playing confusion was too heavy-handed, but not enough and she risked being transparent. Truth, then. Just not all of it, and the angry tears were anything but a lie. _“Why?”_ she hissed through her teeth.

A small smile lifted at Rubie’s face, the expression as much condescending as it was bitterly, bitterly humiliating. “Oh, my dear.” That was all, and then the bag was being forced back over Mikasa’s head.

The struggle left her sucking in more of the coarse fabric than air, the odd smell having an alarmingly soporific effect on her senses. She was aware of her feet thudding down the stairs as she was half dragged, and only then realized she was wearing her boots again. Her head swam, and then the air was changing—cooler. She was outside.

An immeasurable amount of time passed, punctuated by the sharp smell of the bag and the mumbling conversation of her Redeemer captors. Her thoughts drifted to Hanji’s squad, and she wondered how close behind they were following. They _had_ to be following.

Cold— _very,_ very cold—water splashed across Mikasa’s face, and only then did she realize she’d passed out. She gulped in lungfuls of air, searching the space around her wildly. _Stone, so much stone, men in red, torches. The Underground._

The floor was cold and hard beneath her knees. Five Redeemers, all in red, were gathered around her in what appeared to be a long hall. Rubie was nowhere to be seen, but as one of the men stepped forward she recognized his face—a male copy of his sister’s.

“Sorry for the water. The sedative can be difficult to wake up from.”

Mikasa inhaled to speak, but the action sent her into a violent hacking fit. Rikard gestured to one of the Redeemers behind her, and a cup of water presented itself underneath her nose. Against her better judgement, she drank greedily, if only to relieve the burning scratch in her throat.

“Good girl.” The cup was pulled away before she was ready, droplets of water and spit falling down her chin and across her knees. “You had that bag on you for a few hours. Probably gonna feel that in your head and chest for a while more.” Rikard gestured again, and a pair of large hands were suddenly lifting Mikasa to standing. “Stick her in the girl’s cell. Bring the basin and some food afterwards.”

The drug still had a grip on her senses, making the walk difficult, and the guard hauled more than escorted her. She craned her head back to see Rikard, catching the crimson flutter of his cloak as he retreated.

Row after row of empty cell lined the stone hallway. Some were larger than others, barely large enough for a man to turn around in, while others were rather spacious. She hadn’t seen this side of the Redeemer’s lockup, having been limited to Levi’s location. She cornered her gaze to her guard, noting his massive height and rotund form. She recognized him. _The jailor._ He’d be slow in a fight, but formidable. She wished for that garrotte.

The jailor gave a loud and very wet sniff, the sound echoing through the catacombs. Mikasa grimaced at the sickly-wet sound as he patted his fingers across the bridge of his nose. It was broken, still not set.

They rounded a corner, encountering another stretch of cells. This area looked oddly familiar, however. An intense feeling of hate bubbled in Mikasa when she saw the redheaded woman standing near the far end of the hall. She’d changed attire—a red, scarf-like garment hung from her neck and tumbled down to brush at her knees. It gave her a somewhat _virtuous_ appearance, and the anger only surged higher in Mikasa’s chest.

“Red Mother,” the jailor uttered, jerking to a halt before the woman.

“Why is she wet?” Rubie touched a sopping lock of Mikasa’s hair.

“Wouldn’t wake up,” he replied. He sniffed again, pawed at his nose, then quickly added, “Rikard’s decision.”

A look of mild irritation flitted across Rubie’s face, but she covered it with a dreamy smile. “You must have so many questions, Mika,” she intoned. “I can assure you that they will all be answered in due course.” She swept her hand out and motioned to the opened cell beside them. The guard sniffed and lifted his hand for another pass across his nose.

Her arm was free for but a moment, and with her mind clearer after the walk, reflexes somewhat restored, Mikasa’s fist connected with Rubie’s nose with all the swiftness of an adder.

The jailor roared and wrenched her away, but the damage was already done. Mikasa managed to break her fall with a roll as the man tossed her into the cell. The bars slammed shut behind her, followed by the frantic jangle of keys.

“Perhaps I deserved that,” Rubie said, voice muffled by her hand. The sight of the diminutive woman next to the massive jailor, both sporting damaged noses, was almost comical. Almost. “Move,” Rubie ordered, and the guard stumbled back to let her approach the bars.

“Red Mother—” he began to protest, wary. Rubie held up a hand.

“Perhaps you’ll never trust me. Or forgive me. That’s fine.” Her pale hands, marred with blood, gripped around the bars. “But I hope that one day you’ll _understand_ me.”

The bars were cold and unforgiving against her brow as Mikasa leaned in. She could see every freckle on Rubie’s face at this distance, could almost _smell_ the metallic tang of the blood leaking over her chin. “And I hope you know,” she replied, voice a cracked hiss, “that it’s going to be _I_ who kills you.”

For her part, Rubie didn’t waver, didn’t even swallow, and a balmy smile wavered itself into place as she pulled away from the cell. “You Ackermans are so...volatile.”

That smile was verging on triumphant, and Mikasa’s gaze travelled past her to the cell across the hall. How had she not noticed until now? Her mind was on fire—a _far_ stronger tug in their connection than she’d experienced.

Rubie was speaking, droning on in that supercilious tone, no doubt thinking she’d revealed some kind of clever trick. Mikasa didn’t care, could only focus on the harrowing drop in her gut as she pushed through the bond.

And met nothing.

“This must be a shock,” she cooed, observing the tormented expression on Mikasa’s face. “Believe me, this was probably the hardest lie for me to keep.”

Levi’s expression mirrored her own—confusion, a rising panic. But she couldn’t hear him. _Why couldn’t she hear him? Speak to him? Why wasn’t it working?_ The bond was still there, no doubt, which was an odd sort of relief. In fact, it was stronger than ever— _painfully_ so. Like standing too close to an open flame.

“You don’t need to forgive me, but you will understand.” Rubie dabbed at her bloodied nose tentatively before jerking her head at the jailor, a wordless order for him to follow. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

Alone, the silent distance between them mocking. Exhaustion clung to her bones, yet the bond was a coursing power in her ears, making her feel powerful—overstimulated. The torch in the hall reflected off his eyes, a pair of blue-metal stones in the shadows. She could almost _reach_ him, they were so close.

His voice was a low rumble across the divide, his hands strong and pale as they curved around the bars before him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Mikasa listened to the lulling hum of their connection. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  
  
  
  
  



	18. Stairway To Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle of wits...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first, thank you so much for the rush of reviews and likes for the previous update! You guys have been so supportive and amazing, and for someone who was incredibly nervous about sharing her work with the public for the first time, it feels really nice to be met with such support! That terrible month hiatus allowed me time to revisit the story plan, and it’s hit me just how close to done we are with this story. I’d say 5 more chapters? Part of the exercise for me on this thing was to not overplan—something I do waay too much. I always like to have a guideline/blueprint of a story before I start writing, but I just said fuck it with this one and kind of set out on the open road with barely any map or sense of direction. It was liberating, terrifying, and went a completely different way than I originally planned; I thought this story would have about 8 chapters. Lol. But I’m glad I grabbed this tiger’s tail, even if there are inconsistencies or things I’d rather do differently; I’ve learned so much. So, thank you again for your continued support! Also, forgot to shoutout to Oceanalola on Tumblr for betaing chapter 16! Thank you, darling!

 

At least the rain had stopped.

It was still frigid, and frost would most likely form overnight, but they weren’t soaked to the bone.

He thumbed the fabric in his hand, tracing the old tears stitched together by string that was just slightly the wrong shade of red. The young man next to him—was it _Jean?—_ eyed the scarf, mouth turning downward into a frown. Efran tucked the garment back into his jacket.

“She’ll get it back,” Jean muttered, gaze trained forward again. Even in the twilight gloom, the agitation was evident on his face

“That she will,” Efran sighed, nodding his agreement. “That she will.”

Something caught his attention from the opposite side of the road—a pair of glasses glinting in the moonlight like the eyes of a cat. Hanji stepped onto the misty road and scanned the treeline until she found Efran’s watchful gaze. She nodded once.

“Well, that’s our cue, laddy.” He gave Jean a hearty pat on the back before turning to the rest of the squad behind him. “Let’s go.”

The soldiers drifted out of the shadowed greenwood one by one, wading through the low brume like a gathering of ghosts. Hanji jerked her chin toward the dark house at the end of the road. “Well, I don’t like it,” she began without preamble, voice low. “Moblit and I watched all of them enter, but we couldn’t see any sign of movement inside. No light, nothing. It’s like they’re hiding.”

“Or waiting,” Efran added. “Mikasa?”

“Yeah, I saw her. I think they drugged her. Maybe hit her, I don’t know. But she wasn’t walking right.” She chewed her lip, eyes narrowing at the small building. Then she set toward it. The group followed without a word.

Efran kept his voice low—quieter still so that the rest of the group wouldn’t hear. “Doesn’t it feel a bit like a trap?” Hanji tilted her head down to peer at him over her spectacles. He continued. “It’s too easy. These people may be radical, but they’re savvy. We surround them, but maybe there are more waiting to surround us.”

“This is true,” Hanji replied. They walked in silence for several feet before she added, “but that would mean that they’re wise to our presence. I’m confident that the plan has been a success so far. They’re severely outnumbered against our military, and if they’re as savvy as you say, they’ll know the _wise_ move would be to retreat rather than stage an ambush.” He didn’t push, choosing instead to trust in her judgement. The unsettled feeling in his gut persisted, however. _Why here? Is it a meeting point?_

When the house was about five meters away, Hanji halted the group, hand moving in a silent signal for them to assume the next formation in the plan. She approached the front door on silent feet, Efran and Jean at her flank. Hands at her blades, breath fogging out before her, she whispered, “remember, kill if you must, but leave at least one alive for questioning. That’s the only way we’ll find the camp.”

Efran nodded once, his own hands finding the blades at his hips. The gear felt strange and cumbersome on his form, the straps too constricting. He wasn’t bad at 3dmg, but he wasn’t good either—a blacksmith’s son hardly had use for such a skill. Swords, however, blades and knives, he was _very_ familiar with. Those he could handle quite well.

“Draw,” Hanji ordered, and the three of them freed their blades, the sound slicing through the night with a metallic _hiss._ The noise was quickly followed by the bang of Hanji’s boot as she delivered it full-force against the frail door of the house. Efran and Jean filed in after the commander, weapons ready, pulses pounding.

And there was nothing.

Efran spun around in preparation for whomever might be lurking behind the door. Nothing. The house was indeed small—there was a small kitchen area and a fireplace, and the only furniture was a modest bed pushed against the far wall and a few chairs surrounding the dining table. There was nowhere to hide here.

Hanji let out a huff of breath, spectacled gaze combing the room for any clues. Finally, she moved to the table, falling into one of the chairs with a groan. “Moblit had eyes on the house the entire time. He would have seen them leave. They can’t just... _vanish._

There wasn’t a single corner, cupboard or curtain that could possibly pass for a hiding space. Efran dragged a hand across his smooth pate in frustration. “Well, I’d say this is a whole new level of _savvy.”_

“More like necromancy,” Hanji groused. “This is...this is _impossible.”_

“Perhaps they got out when Moblit looked away,” Jean offered. He was awarded a tetchy look from the commander.

“Moblit didn’t look away.”

“Well...then…” He scratched his neck, glancing around the room for an explanation. There was none.

Efran perused the hearth, searching for signs of a recent fire. The chimney was narrow, but even if the Redeemers proved spry, that would still leave a compromised Mikasa to deal with. There was only one door, and the windows were locked from the inside. _No one_ could have left without Moblit seeing them. He dragged both hands across his head again, pacing absently as he pieced through the enigma.

The floor creaked beneath his boot.

Everyone’s attention snapped to the subtle sound. There, barely distinguishable amongst the floorboards, was a door. “A cellar...or basement,” Hanji mouthed, and then, louder, “this was a waste of my time.” She sent Jean a pointed look, motioning to the door with her chin. He nodded and took careful, heavy steps across the room. “On three,” Hanji murmured, locking eyes with Efran. _“One…”_

Jean was almost to the door, hands at his blades. Efran steeled himself for a fight, anticipating a rush of Redeemers to fly from the cellar like bats out of a cave.

_“...two…”_

The floorboards creaked again as Hanji crouched before the door, her fingers finding the small, brass ring and tugging upward in one, heaving motion—

“Three!”

A dark, earthy scent filled the room, followed quickly by a dramatic change in the air’s temperature. The three of them stood above the gaping hole in the floor, utterly stunned by the depthless stretch of tunnel. This was no cellar. It was a passage.

“Get me a torch,” Hanji ordered. Jean was already moving, tearing across the threshold and out into the night. He returned swiftly, Moblit in tow, unlit torch in the latter’s hands. “Moblit, I hope you’ve brought the sketchpad. I want this thoroughly documented.” Firelight illuminated the air, the scent of sulfur wafting as Moblit shook out a match. He passed the burning torch to Hanji. She loomed over the opening in the floor and angled the light above the tunnel.

A low whistle left Jean. “Fuck, how deep do you think it goes?”

“All the way to the Underground,” Efran replied. “I think we’ve found our entrance.”

Hanji turned and gave him a slow grin. “Some basement, huh?”

 

* * *

 

 

Three days.

In theory, the time didn’t seem like much. But even Rubie felt her resolve waning. The Ackermans were made of sturdy stuff.

“You’re late,” she muttered, and her brother gave a weary sigh. He was passing a dirty rag across his hands. “Well? Any development?” The answer was written in the girl’s blood staining his knuckles, but she still asked.

“Sometimes I wonder if we have the wrong kid, Rube.”

She rounded on him, voice a low hiss. “Bullshit.” She sent a furtive glance down the hall. Empty. “Don’t accuse me of being wrong just because you’re incapable of doing your job.”

“I’m plenty capable.”

“No, you’re too soft. Always have been. Don’t let your bleeding heart get in the way of—”

“Perhaps you’d like to take a stab at it.” The look he gave her then reminded her _far_ too much of their mother. He’d always taken after her. “And I’m being quite literal, Rubie.”

This was beyond frustrating. No movement on the girl. None on the Ackermans. _Yet._

“I’m fully aware of what it entails. Please don’t forget who provided you with said information.” Ah, yes, Eren Jaeger had been more than happy to share the details of Hanji Zoe’s experiments whilst in the afterglow _._ “But I can’t do everything myself. Don’t forget the sacrifices, the masquerades _I_ had to maintain. While you’d rather play with your explosives, _I’ve_ been fighting for our people.”

“Our people,” he scoffed, casting the filthy rag away. It hit the far wall with a damp _slap._ “Is this still about them, or has it since turned into some crazy revenge path for you?”

“It’s _always_ been about revenge. Vengeance.” A knot of anxiety twisted in Rubie’s gut. _Don’t do this to me now, brother._ “Need I remind you what Fritz’s legacy has done to us? No one even _remembers_ the clans.” She jabbed a finger down the hall, toward the cells, the way he’d just come. “That thing is not a girl, Rikard. It is a weapon. Our heritage carries its own weight, just as the Ackermans’, but imagine what we could do with a _Titan.”_

“Sure, and you could control her just as much as an Ackerman.”

“Who said anything about controlling _her?”_

Rikard’s face blanked, his green eyes blinking a few times. Then he understood. Then he was angry. “This whole time, I thought there was a use for torturing her. I thought you wanted to see what type of Titan she was.”

“There is, Rikard. And I do. But what’s the use in harvesting the seeds of a plant if the plant isn’t valuable to begin with?”

The expression of horror, of disgust, was one that Rubie had seen many times before. She’d acquainted herself with it, desensitized herself against its power. On her brother, however, the expression was decidedly more potent, and for the briefest of moments she felt the flickering of shame. He looked exhausted, stretched thin by the demands of their life. “She’s too young for that. She’s a fucking kid, she’s too young,” he muttered, unable to meet her gaze. He’d always been the weaker one.

“Of course she is, Rikard. That’s why I want to see her Titan. I want to make sure waiting another four or five years for when she _isn’t_ too young is even worth it.” The silence was stifling. He didn’t agree with her, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t going to rebel. That was good enough for Rubie. “We’ve wasted enough time standing out here.”

The pathetic look faded from Rikard’s face, a more tolerable expression of determination replacing it. “Are you sure this is going to work? Talking to that woman is like trying to get through to a brick wall.”

“Everyone has a breaking point. One of them will cave first. Just…” She pinched the bridge of her nose, _beyond_ finished with explaining herself to everyone. “I have a theory about the dog, but I need to draw him out. Just keep talking to Mikasa.”

She turned to leave, but his peeved sigh halted her. “We don’t have time for this, Rube. For theories. We were supposed to move on _weeks_ ago—”

“That is an order.” He reacted as if slapped, too stunned to fire back. She didn’t wait for a reply from her brother, turning on her heel and setting off down the hall.

The cell was dark, the torch on the wall only serving to cast shadows on the dark-haired man within. He held a firm mastery over his mein—despite the dirt on his clothes, the bags beneath his eyes, he appeared as if the only thing afflicting him was the greatest sense of apathy. She admired this skill. She also saw right through it.

“Leave.”

The jailor pushed off the far wall as if roused from a stupor. “Aye, ma’am.” Then, in a low voice as he passed Levi’s cell, “smile, dog.”

Levi’s gray eyes shifted from hers to regard the jailor, the faintest spark in their depths of something very dangerous. She waited for the jailor’s steps to fade down the hall before speaking again. “An old quarrel?” No response from the dark man. No emotion in those eyes. “Very well. Where did we leave our last conversa—”

It was here that Levi Ackerman made his first error, and it filled Rubie with the oddest conflict of triumph and discontent. “Where is my lieutenant?”

Nothing particularly arresting about the inquiry, nor the use of the title. But she tucked a thought away just in case, building on that theory. She glanced over her shoulder at the now empty cell. “Nearby.”

“Obviously.”

A strange thing to say. “My brother is having a little chat with her.”

 _There._ Another slip. So, so brief, but she caught it—the faintest recoil of his head, the slight widening of his eyes. His voice dripped with disinterest. “Your brother has little chats with the Titan girl, too. Tell me, have you moved her nearby as well?”

She let him off the hook. “Rest easy, captain. It’s a chat in the traditional sense. No knives allowed.” This avenue seemed fruitful, so she continued. “She truly is your equal, isn’t she?” No reaction—that iron resolve of his gripped ever so tighter. She gestured in a circular motion to her nose, at the purple moons that had formed beneath her eyes. “I bet this wasn’t even half strength. She wanted to bite, not kill.”

Levi’s face turned to the side, eyes drifting along the confines of his cell as if searching for something, _anything_ that could possibly put an end to his ennui. “Are you gonna stand there all day and windjam again, or is there a point to all this?” And just like that, the avenue closed. Talented bastard.

“No, you are most certainly not a man of faith,” she murmured absently. She ran her fingers along the tippet at her neck, feeling the coolness of the silk. “But then again, I’ve never felt particularly _devout_ myself.” There was the barest hint of interest now. At least, he was humoring her. “People like a hero, Levi. They like it for the same reasons that they like religion or kings or _gods._ Their idolatry saves them from facing the demons before them. They feel safe in their piety.

“But for you, Levi, there is no creed. In fact, I suspect you’d feel trapped in one _._ There is no god for you because gods don’t _bleed._ And there’s nothing truer for a man like you than blood. It’s a constant reminder that doesn’t wash out, no matter how much you scrub.”

This was a _very_ fine line she was walking, and she knew it. No longer was his gaze indifferent, and for once she was grateful for the bars separating them. “You just have me all figured out, don’t you.”

Rubie shook her head, lifting her hand to gesture about the space and all it represented. “I don’t want you to join this.” Then she was moving, crossing to the keys on the wall. “You’re too good to fall in line again beneath another hierarchy.” She took her time in returning to the cell, but only leaned casually against the bars, keys dangling loosely between her fingers. She lifted the end of the tippet. “You have your mask, I have mine. We adorn ourselves with the accoutrements of our station, perpetuate the lie. Why do we do this? Why do we masquerade as the heroes everyone so desperately wants us to be?” She leaned forward, forehead pressing against the bars. “Survival.”

The corner of Levi’s brow twitched. He looked away. There was another question on his tongue, kept at bay by the grit of his teeth. His gray eyes returned to her. “The Ackermans. Your brother said they were warriors dutiful to the crown.” He tilted his head, eyeing her with a creased brow. “But what were they to _you?_ The name _Ackerman_ seems to mean more to you than it does to me.”

Well, this was by far the most talkative she’d seen him. How long had he wrestled with that question? Why ask now? It would be foolish to believe that he had cracked after only three days, but she would take this as a sign that he was—perhaps— _bending_ . “Flanagan.” Levi’s brow cocked in confusion. “My name. Rikard’s. Our _mother’s_ name. The Flanagans were another clan. One of many, that existed alongside Ackermans.” She let him see the anger there, opened up the door just a bit to reveal the true emotions beneath. Let him come to her. “And the Ackermans weren’t always dutiful. In fact, they were the ones that lead the uprising against the king and his corrupt government.”

Levi leaned back into the shadows, resting his back against the stone wall. “I see, so you want to pick up from where the clans started. You want a reprisal.”

“What I want…” She stopped, suppressed the ire before it could rule her. Started again. Both had the sanctuary of shadow, but a lot could be read within one’s tone of voice. They were dancing on a blade’s edge of control, and it would be detrimental to let her emotions get in the way now. “What I want is to _prevent_ history from repeating itself. Humanity never learns from its mistakes. The circle never stops spinning.” She gripped the bars for emphasis, keys tapping against the metal. “But this time there are no clans, Levi. There are no warriors. The ones in power _control_ the military. And frankly, I don’t see a coup happening anytime soon, do you? So, who’s going to defend the people from this corruption?”

Levi rolled his eyes heavenward. “In case you’d forgotten, since you’ve been busy playing queen of the underworld, there are more pressing matters than the swine running the capital. Titans, for example.”

“You’re smarter than this,” she said, appealing to his ego. If he had one. Every man had one. “Don’t bury your head in the dirt. Don’t _deny_ the power you have. The clans were not only feared for their numbers and strength, they were feared for the unexplainable abilities they possessed.” Ah, yes, she’d found an opening again. Even he could not hide from this. “You know of what I speak. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That _power.”_

If the look on his face wasn’t proof enough. There was a war raging behind his silver gaze, one she had fought herself many times. Surely he must be wondering that. He was struggling against the fetters of his resolve, his _aversion_ to submission. “I’ve been listening to you drone on with your shitty platitudes for three days. Why the hell are you only now bringing this up?”

Oh, he _was_ bending. Just a bit more…

“But am I right? You have felt it.”

The silence was answer enough, and it sounded like a sigh of relief. Like giving in. “Are there more people like us?” he breathed, eyes a pair of twinkling stones in the dark. “Remnants of a clan?”

She nodded, emphatic. “I’m sure of it. And I plan on finding them.” He was watching her now, waiting. How much could she confess without giving away too much? “Who knows, maybe there are entire clans that survived the war and are thriving.” She shouldn’t be standing this close. The guards were gone. They were alone. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Especially if members from different clans joined forces and utilized their bonding abilities. Imagine what we could learn from these people if we—”

“What did you just say?” His sudden outburst gave her pause. He had leaned forward from the wall and was staring at her with the most intent look on his face. Then he shook his head. “What shitty-ass book did you read this from, anyway?”

Something itched along Rubie’s intuition, whispered in her head like a thought recently forgotten. She _couldn’t_ read him, but there was something...not quite right. “My mother was one of the few people who remembered the legacy, who retained her memories. She told me and my brother all she knew.” They stared at each other for a few beats, each blatantly attempting to read the other. It brought Rubie not an insignificant amount of pride to see him struggle as much as she. “I’m not asking you to join this,” she repeated, voice softer. “I know you more than you think, and I know how it feels to be trapped. I also know what that power feels like.”

His gray eyes narrowed, raking over her face ever more keenly. He was _very_ good at that; for once, she actually felt it challenging to retain her composure. Her fingers itched absently at her neck. “What do you want, then?” he muttered.

“I want you to join _me.”_

He released a huff of breath, face derisive. “Thought you said I was too good to fall in line.”

Rubie hummed, amused. “You are. In fact, it would be a waste of...talent.” Her eyes had adjusted to the light. No doubt his had too. “You know, it wasn’t uncommon for clans to forge alliances. The Ackermans weren’t the only ones with remarkable abilities. Think of what we could accomplish together.” Her pale fingers toyed absently with the ginger plait of hair draped across her shoulder.

“Do you lock all potential business partners in a cage?”

A smirk formed at her lips. “You’re the first.”

“I feel so special.”

“You are.”

Levi’s eyes snapped furtively to the cell behind her and back again. “And my Lieutenant? Is your brother giving her a similar spiel?”

“I think we both know how that conversation will go.”

Some unplaceable emotion danced behind his eyes for the briefest of moments, cutting another dash across her tally. “And?”

“And what? You and I both know she’s even more stubborn than you.”

Even in the dark, she could see the faint upturn of his mouth. Subtle, but the closest thing to a smile—if it could even be called that—she’d ever seen on him. “That she is.” His face blanked with a flicker of the torchlight, impassive once more. “I’ve been down here for, what, three months? Four? You can keep us here for as long as you want, but neither of us are joining your fucking circus.”

Rubie remained mum, unpacking that theory and pulling it forward to examine beneath a harsh light. “You love her.” Not a question.

Those silver eyes lifted to glint at her from beneath dark fringe—an almost feral look. The barest hint of a sneer formed. “Does that bother you?”

Inconvenient, maybe. But she was beyond caring. Rikard was right—they’d spent too long in one place, wasted time trying to cultivate a forest that should have been burned down a long time ago. “I think you know,” she began, hand finding the cold metal of the door, “that there really aren’t a lot of options.”

He stood— _rose_ in a fluid motion so unnaturally controlled, and Rubie’s heart dropped to her stomach. “There was only ever one option.” She stood her ground as he advanced from the shadows, her pulse hammering painfully in her neck. “And you’d never let us walk.” He paused a stride away from her, and she could _feel_ the tightly-coiled energy radiating from him even through the cell. It was terrifying. Heady.

The iron bars were growing warm in her damp hands, but she refused to let go lest he see how she trembled. A grin tugged at her mouth. “How out of character for you, Levi. I never expected you to roll over and give up that easy.”

“That’s exactly what you expected. What’s more, I believe Mikasa promised to kill you, so kind of makes for a shitty working relationship, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes cornered to her hand on the bar—to the key, back to her face.

“You would sign her fate so readily? Tell me, could she forgive that?”

“Go ask her,” Levi hissed, jerking his chin toward the hall.

It was just so precious, and so _delightfully_ predictable. “No need.” Rubie played her last card. “She can walk.” The keys jangled against the lock, and his eyes snapped to the sound. “You stay. She can walk.” She swung the door wide.

Several seconds passed in silence, the air thick with tension, Rubie feeling very much like she’d just opened the cage entrapping a dangerous animal. Levi’s eyes were riveted to the cell door swaying on its hinges. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He could _kill_ her. He could just step right out and snap her neck, then walk free. There was tension in the way he stood—too poised. And still he didn’t move.

“Not a dog in a cage. Never again.” Her hands turned out from her sides—welcoming, peaceful. “There’s so much you still don’t know. Join me.”

For a moment, the answer was clear on his face. Just for a moment. “I’ve done...questionable things,” he murmured, brow knitting in dark thought. His eyes cornered to either side of the hall, contemplating. “But I don’t think she’d forgive me for that.”

Rubie’s face twisted unwittingly—composure cracking straight down the middle yet remaining intact, disfigured. “Is her forgiveness really what you’re concerned about?”

The heavy rumble of the cell door closing was the most wretched sound, rivalled only by the sharp smack of the keys as they landed on the stone before her feet. Levi regarded her from behind the bars, face in partial shadow. “Think about it this way. You let her go, she _will_ come for you. She’ll track you down, and she’ll make good on her promise.”

Dammit, he was _right._ And she hated that. Day one, Mikasa Ackerman had been a thorn in her side, every snag in her plan. She’d apply that foolish, dogged determination into finding them. _That bitch._ “Do you know what you’re doing?” Rubie breathed, voice some foreign thing in her throat. _This...wasn’t supposed to happen._

Levi never answered, just observed her for a few moments more before giving her his back and returning to the shadows. She was numb, completely frozen to the spot, hands still open. Then her pride crashed into her, followed by the rage and humiliation of _defeat._ Yes, Ackermans were stubborn stock.

She’d stooped to lower—hell, there was a time when she’d once groveled—but crouching down to retrieve the keys, Rubie knew she’d met a whole different nadir. And to make it worse, he _wasn’t_ laughing. A mocking sneer, pride in his so-called victory—these she could have handled. Not this heavy, tired silence.

“Never took you for a martyr,” she monotoned, skirts a bustle of red around her legs as she took off down the hall. The failure itself spanked more than the impending fallout. And she really _had_ been willing to teach him, show him, and maybe even learn herself. Now she needed to wipe the slate clean and move on—quickly, too.

It was Rikard who was kept waiting this time, and he could tell what had happened just by looking at her.

“You were right,” she said, no spite in her tone. In the end, he would always be her advocate, she knew this. He didn’t ridicule her when she relayed the interaction with Levi, but she could see the agitation on his face.

“I suppose it’s for the best. Their willfulness would have made them intractable.”

Rage surged in her chest, and she didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream or _kill._ Her brother was still talking, jawing away in a very logical tone about next steps, or something else ridiculous like that.

“...we’ll prepare the camp to leave within a few days and then take the East tunnel toward Chlorba. We can leave the Ackermans in—“

“I want them dead.”

The gaping expression on Rikard’s face might have been humorous, had she felt like laughing. He blinked a few times, red brows drawing together. “Rubie, that’s...there are other ways—“

“No, Rikard, there aren’t. We let them go, it’s just signing our fates further down the line. These are _Ackermans._ I don’t care how much they’ve been brainwashed by the capital, they’re still natural-born killers. Weapons. If they can’t be wielded, then we must defuse them.”

Looking back, Rubie could clearly pick out where she went wrong. Hindsight mocked her, pointed its lucid finger at all the things she should have done differently. _This could have been avoided._

“What a mess.” Rikard echoed her thoughts, that pathetic, hounded look returning to his features.

“We’ll do as you said. Rally the group, prepare for the trip to Chlorba. Leave no evidence behind. But the Ackermans will be dealt with.”

He nodded, face grave. “I’ll have the cook put something in their food. It will be quick.”

Rubie cocked her head to the side, as if regarding her brother for the first time. “You must have misunderstood me. This needs to be done properly. They are as good as _traitors,_ Rikard. They are shunning their own kind in favor of the enemy.”

There was an adamance to the way he shook his head. He clearly couldn’t grasp the importance of ritual. “No. No, Rubie. This is becoming asinine. It’s not their fault they don’t know any better.”

The rage was quickly evanescing, exhaustion taking its place, and Rubie suddenly didn’t have the energy to fight with him. She wouldn’t bend, however. “Oh, I think we’ve given them plenty of time to _know better,_ brother.” She pushed past him and continued down the hall without a backward glance. “We leave in three days. I want it done within that time. Properly.”

Whether he chose to obey her or not was negligible at this point—she’d just get someone else to carry out the order. He may have been her brother, but the Redeemers only listened to one.  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok...so you probably have some questions. And sorry for the lack of RivaMika interaction, but there was some plot to address, ~~and I'm trying to build the foreplay~~. Most will probably get answered next chapter, but feel free to fire away your angst in the comments too!  
>  All I will say about the next update is...smut.


	19. The Lemon Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oookay I don’t know why I’m sweating over this chapter so much. Maybe because it’s like a _big ass_ chapter––19 pages for chapter 19, y’all. I went through it over and over, but undoubtedly some things slipped through the cracks. So sound off in the comments if anything is too egregious! Thank you, thank you, thank you as always for your continued support. You guys are just the greatest. Needless to say, this chapter is NSFW.

 

The first time Rikard visited, she’d been moved from the cell and into a room.

The conversation lasted maybe five minutes, completely one sided and consisting of him making anemic inquiries into her general well-being and level of comfort as if he actually _cared,_ as if this was some kind of getaway retreat for her. She suspected he was trying to earn her favor, going as far as to apologize for the meagre victuals afforded to her. “I can assure you, there’s no slight intended. We’ve had a shortage of food.” Fucker.

The room was indeed much larger than the cell, and yet it felt, oddly, more confining. Not to mention it isolated her from Levi. Maybe that was the point. He was still nearby—their proximity to each other the only answer she could come up with for why the bond wasn’t working—but she had no idea _where._ Still in his cell, perhaps. That made the most sense.

There were no windows or any source of natural light in this place—a fact she’d registered before during her initial visit to the Underground but had never truly _appreciated._ It left her with a keen mix of chagrin and rising panic. Any sympathy she’d maintained previously for Levi and his circumstances increased ten-fold, because it was _so utterly stifling here._

By the second day, she was convinced something had gone horribly wrong.

 _They’d been found out. Killed._ _They can’t find the camp._ The reasons continued to pile up in her mind, each one more disastrous than its predecessor. The only consolation was the lack of comment from her captors—if Hanji’s squad had indeed been compromised, she doubted the waters would be as calm as they were.

Rikard continued his act, going so far as to remove her manacles upon his second visit. She wouldn’t voice how nice it felt to have her wrists free of the unforgiving metal.     

“If this is some kind of ploy to get me to trust you, it won’t work.”

“No ploy. I just don’t think chains are necessary.”

“I could kill you.”

“Oh, I know.” Rikard uncapped the tankard at his belt and handed it to her. She stared at him, unblinking. “Here,” he said, taking a few gulps before proffering it again. He passed a hand across his mouth, wiping away the moisture clinging to his stubble.

The cold water was blissful on her dry throat, but Mikasa forced herself to take slow, deliberate sips, never breaking eye contact with the red-haired man. He eventually looked away.

“Mind if I sit?” He gestured to the space beside her.

Well, that was...that was unexpected. He was either trying very hard at a specific angle, or he severely underestimated his prisoner. She doubted it was the latter. “It’s your house.”

He chuckled softly, taking a seat on the floor. He left a few feet between them, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. For a moment, she wondered if he was sleeping. The tension in his brow and jaw belied the relaxed cadence of his breathing, as if he were mulling over something heavy in his mind. There was a lack of pretense to him, an absence of the tightly-controlled charade his sister maintained, and Mikasa found this disturbed her more. There was a test here. A trick.

“What do you want?” she ventured, continuing what little of the masquerade remained. Rikard didn’t reply. Didn’t even budge. “Where is...Captain Levi?” The use of his title almost tripped her tongue—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d addressed him as such.

“Do you know,” he began, and it was like he hadn’t heard her queries, “how extremely rare you are?”

Spoken like a casual inquiry, no trace of awe or wonderment in his voice, yet Mikasa still found a familiar sense of irritation welling up inside her. He certainly wouldn’t be the first person to fixate on her unusual heritage. “I don’t need a reminder.” She wouldn’t mention how extremely _lonely_ it was being the sole remaining member of a race.

“That’s not what I’m referring to,” Rikard mumbled under his breath. She quirked a brow, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t, just exhaled deeply and ran his hands down his face before pushing off the wall to standing. She watched his movements, beyond perplexed. He regarded her from over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “I’ll have the guard bring you something to eat.”

“Wait.” It had been involuntary, perhaps born out of a slight exasperation for his cryptic manner. “What the hell is this?”

He lingered by the open door, and at first she thought he would ignore her. “I don’t rightly know anymore.” And then he left.

The unease that had been kindling in the back of her mind only grew after that. She didn’t know what to make of his abstruse behavior. It would be too easy to write it off as some kind of gambit on his part. Needless to say, she didn’t sleep much that night—or, what she assumed was night. She didn’t know up from down anymore.

A female guard arrived on the third day bearing a basin filled with water. “There’s soap on the bottom,” she muttered, indicating the bar lurking in the depths of the basin. She removed a towel from across her shoulder and threw it at Mikasa none too gently. “Wash up quick. I’ll be back soon to retrieve this.”

Bathing proved difficult, as the basin was not large, and most of the water ended up on the floor by the time she’d finished. But it felt nice to be clean. Her mind felt clearer. No sooner had she dried and clothed herself did the Redeemer make good on her promise and return, only this time with Rikard in tow. The woman sent a pointed look to the excess water surrounding the basin, grabbing the used towel and mopping it up with her foot.

“Sorry,” Mikasa muttered, her tone anything but.

The woman cornered her gaze to the red haired man, clearly second guessing whatever snide remark she’d been prepared to say. She cleared the bath supplies and left the room without a word.

Mikasa sat on the cot, waiting through the heavy silence for him to speak. Conflict and incertitude was evident in his features. From here, she could see the differences between his eyes and Eren’s, and she found that to be strangely comforting.

“I haven’t really been doing this right,” he murmured, voice nearly inaudible. “At least, I haven’t been doing this how _she_ wants me to.”

The words rang like a confession, and the tension in his brow dissipated some. Did he expect her to buy into the sympathy act? Perhaps he had underestimated her. “Your sister calls all the shots, then?”

A pained smile crossed his face, another confession writing itself out on his features. “It’s an odd feeling, trusting someone for so long and with so much only to one day disagree with them entirely.”

Mikasa kept her features carefully blank.

“I suppose it was the opposite for the two of you. Spending that much time together on that mission of yours probably brought you closer, am I right? Old grievances aside.” His voice was low, indirect, as if he were orating his thoughts instead of speaking to her. Like he was fleshing out an idea he’d been ruminating on for some time.

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating,” she began, playing affronted. “While it’s true that Captain Levi and I have a history of contention, we willingly put it aside for the sake of our mission—”

Rikard held up a hand, silencing her. “Stop. Just stop.” He tilted his head back, staring up at the low ceiling with tired eyes. “Drop the pretenses, Mikasa. I’m dropping mine.”

Something about the moment seemed inherently off, like they’d somehow deviated from a plan—mummers forsaking their script. He was calling her out, that much was apparent. But on what? “So you’re embracing your role as the man who kidnaps and tortures children, then?”

He actually _flinched_ at that. “Look, I’m not trying to plead my innocence here.” He came to the cot and knelt before her, green eyes bright and intense. “But you can’t win this fight, Mikasa. Neither of you can. Rubie’s gambling on your relationship, and _believe_ me, she will use it.”

Dread sunk low into the pit of her stomach, playing out across her face before she could tame it. Rikard nodded, jaw set, and the sincerity in his eyes only made her gut churn further. “Why are you doing this? Why…” Well, it wasn’t _help,_ was it. “...go to these lengths?”

His gaze fell from hers, finding some place on the wall. “Can you feel him now? This close to him, does your connection still work?”

And she was thankful his eyes were occupied elsewhere, because Mikasa’s composure _shattered_. He knew. Did his sister? A new wave of panic crashed over her as she tried once more to fruitlessly engage the bond. It surged, supple against her efforts, but there was no give. Rikard returned his gaze to her just as she rallied the splintered pieces of her comportment. For a moment they only regarded each other, daring one to give first.

“How long have you two been bonded?”

This was what it truly meant to be backed into a corner; in every sense, he had trapped her. Something told her that Rubie wasn’t wise to the bond like her brother—he seemed rather unsure himself, as if he were just piecing it together. Her enduring silence wasn’t doing her any favors, however. She needed to speak, but what she chose to say could easily decide their fate. “Since the cave.”

Rikard’s brows inched up his forehead. “Well, shit. This whole time, then?” The answering silence made him chuckle. “Oh, baby sister, you may have finally lost a round.”

This was completely unraveling, and she had absolutely no idea when it started. And by God he was _pulling_ the truth directly from her. She was better than this. Just for a moment, her gaze flickered to the knife hilt protruding from his belt. He was still kneeling before her—she could have it between his ribs before his next breath.

But.

“Does your sister know?”

“No.”

“Will she?”

He leaned back on his heels, eyeing her down the aquiline curve of his nose like some kind of massive vulture observing its prey. “You’re very good at keeping lies, Mikasa. You can take a lie to your grave. But you’re shit at telling them.” He rose from his crouched posture. “I suggest you reconsider your obstinacy before it’s too late. It’s not just your life on the line.”

He rose and turned to leave. Mikasa scrambled off the cot. “What do you want with the girl? Why are you torturing her?”

Rikard paused, nearly to the door, and even with his back to her she could tell he was contemplating something. He spoke without turning, “she won’t transform.”

Realization struck like a blow, and Mikasa’s jaw dropped involuntarily at the barbarity of it all. “Have you stopped to consider that maybe you have the wrong child?”

She was surprised by the ease with which he nodded in affirmation. He turned from the door but remained in place, expression guarded. “But you and I both know there’s something about this girl. She won’t transform. Not because she can’t, because she’s resilient. And smart. She’ll wait for the right moment. Just like you Ackermans.”

Mikasa took a small step in his direction. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing with her. Why _this_ Titan?” She faltered, steeled herself again. “Why not Eren?”

“Because Eren would have been impossible to get to and even more difficult to control.”

“Your sister already _got_ to Eren, believe me. And I was stupid enough to let it all play out right under my nose.”

His eyes broke from hers then, something akin to shame evident on his face. “He’s also the wrong gender.”

The truth behind his words hovered before her, but it took her a moment to grasp it. Maybe she just didn’t want to. “Are you saying…” He kept his eyes averted. A wave of nausea consumed her, and she very nearly retched. “You don’t want a Titan. You want an _army_ . _”_

“By the time the girl is even fertile enough to conceive, she’ll be more familiar with the Redeemers. She’ll understand her duty in all this—”

 _“Duty?!”_ Mikasa screeched, taking another step toward him. “Listen to yourself. You can barely stomach the words they make you say. That _she_ makes you say. You want to rid humanity of tyrants and restore the clans, but how are you going to do that? By becoming tyrants yourselves?” Her head was pounding, her voice too loud even for her own ears. She brought it down, growling out the word from somewhere deep in her chest, _“coward.”_

That struck a chord, and she saw the long anticipated anger light up his face. “I’m beyond caring what you think of me, Ackerman. Just know that I tried to save you.”

“Save me? I would rather die than align myself with you.” It was no hollow pledge, but the severity of it still hung heavy in the air.

“And Levi? You’re condemning both you and him. You know that, right? Something tells me he’s not going to let you go where he can’t follow.”

Just the mention of his name induced a dull twinge in her chest. This had suddenly become a gambling game, a test of willpower where her duty collided against her fear. What if Hanji wasn’t coming? What if the worst had come to pass and this really all was resting on her decision? The impenetrable yet ever present bond hummed in her ears, mocking her with its presence. She could picture his voice, the timbre of it, but in a moment when she desperately needed him, he was just out of reach.

“You need to choose, Mikasa, because my word in your favor means nothing if Rubie loses patience.”

A very Levi-like response flitted across her brain, pulling an involuntary chortle from her. _Shove your word up your ass, prick._ No, she’d settle for something less incendiary. “I’ve made my decision, Rikard.”

The use of his name seemed to startle him more than her actual answer, and for a moment he just stood there blinking at her. Then he nodded, his angular features suddenly appearing older, more sunken. She waited until the door had shut and bolted behind him before stumbling to the cot. Another ripple of nausea sent her curling up into a fetal position. The panic was there, and the doubt, but they both paled in comparison to the unremitting guilt she felt—she couldn’t help but feel that she held some fault in this, that it all could have been avoided if she’d just been smarter about things. _Stronger._

And then there was Levi. If she lost the gamble, she would be taking him down with her. _He’s not going to let you go where he can’t follow._ And deep down she knew it was true—because it went both ways, really. She knew him well enough by now, knew his pride; there were some things worse than death for a man like Levi.

A dry sob forced its way out of her throat and into her hands. Eren’s face came to mind in the tented darkness of her fingers, and the memory of their last interaction drove the tears from her eyes. Unable to stop the flood, Mikasa reached up to grasp the pillow and pull it across her face. She failed to recall a time she’d wept this hard, the shame of it only adding to her outpour of emotion.

Some indeterminate amount of time past, and she was vaguely aware of drifting in and out of sleep, sometimes finding fresh tears on the pillow. Eventually, it seemed she’d cried out all she could—the empty feeling inside of her was far from relief, however. She maneuvered onto her back, oscillating once again between dark thought and convoluted dreams.

What finally snapped her to wakefulness was the metallic clang of the door being unbolted. Mikasa was on her feet before the hinges even began to speak.

Rikard entered, expression unreadable. The jailor—the snuffling one—followed after, pulling the chain in his hands and propelling a grim-faced Levi into the room. The four of them stood there for a moment, a note of uncertainty hanging in the air. Rikard gestured vaguely for the guard to remove the manacles. “Make it count,” he muttered to Levi.

What...was going on?

Levi paused midway through rubbing his wrists to look at the man, some unspoken message passing between them before he nodded once, sharp, and averted his eyes. Rikard passed his gaze over Mikasa for the briefest of glances and then made another gesture for the guard to follow him back through the door. Then they were alone. For a brief moment, she wondered if she was still sleeping, if this was some feverish dream her mind had created in its crisis.

The tension in the air was too thick for this to be a dream, though. Levi was here, in the room with her. No bars. No bond.

His slate gaze found hers, and he inhaled as if to say something but then hesitated. She should speak. Ask if he was alright. The words were caught in her throat.

“Did you ever finish that book?”

The question was almost as surprising as the quick, gasp of a laugh that hiccupped out of her mouth. Of all the things he could have asked her—and it was just so _him._ Her chest spasmed, and when she inhaled to speak, all that came out was a choked sigh. His eyes widened, and then he was advancing toward her. His figure blurred in her vision, but she managed to stumble forward and meet him halfway.

And he had her. She could feel his arms and his breath and the heat from his body. The bond was a hurricane in her mind, all her senses alight and overstimulated by his presence.

“Are you alright?” His voice was quiet, eyes roaming her face, the tears on her cheeks.

“I’m fine,” she croaked, willing herself to pull it together. “You?”

He didn’t reply immediately, just continued staring as if he was witnessing her for the first time. He leaned in, cheek against hers, nose to her jaw. “I’m fine,” he whispered, his warm breath sending goosebumps up her neck.

There was something in his tone she recognized, however, and it made her pull away to search his face again. It was faint, but there—the well-tamed anxiety she felt in her own chest.

As if sensing her thoughts, he murmured, “Hanji’s cutting it close. Then again, she’s always been one for theatrics, so maybe she just wants a grand entrance.” It was his attempt at lightening the mood probably, but the tension was still there on his face.

“Yeah,” she muttered, and his eyebrow twitched—just the faintest quirk. Her answer was not exactly inspiring hope.

He pulled away completely from her, eyes tracing the room. “Just exactly how far off-plan are we?”

When she didn’t reply immediately, his face became stony. “I’m not sure,” she said.

“You’re not _sure.”_

She’d heard that particular tone of his multiple times in her head—that carefully enunciated delivery in the bottom of his register—but had forgotten just how _intimidating_ it was in person. It certainly didn’t quell the roiling anxiety in her gut.

“You’re not sure,” he repeated, more to himself. She knew it was untimely, but a familiar spark of irritation flared in her gut.

“I don’t exactly have an unexplainable mental connection to everyone in the military, so updates are a bit difficult.”

A low chuckle. “I’m quite aware of that _. But_ , in case you didn’t know, we’re probably getting executed first thing tomorrow.”

The nausea was back. “Tomorrow?” His expression faltered, something close to chagrin there, and she banished the girlish trepidation from her voice. “I thought we had more time.”

“Yeah, well shit out of luck we are.”

“What would you have me do?” Mikasa hissed, casting her hands up. “Tell me, what should I do about any of this?”

Levi took a step toward her, his voice lowering. “I told you not to come here.”

“And I told you that it wasn’t up to you.” Panic was beginning to mingle with frustration, and a very unwelcome feeling tightened around Mikasa’s throat.

Levi ignored her comment and set to pacing, deep in thought. He was thinking aloud—the closest to _prattling_ she had ever heard from him. “Erwin knows about the vision. He’ll want to get you out of here as quickly as possible. He can’t risk you.” He halted his stride when she didn’t answer, and then turned completely to look at her with that same questioning gaze. She only stared at him, outlining the shape of his face and watching it slowly form into an expression of disbelief. “You didn’t tell him.”

Mikasa sighed and sat back down on her cot, exhaustion pressing itself against her awareness. “No, I didn’t. Look, Erwin’s plan is sound, as it usually is. But I am an integral component to that plan, and telling him about this wasn’t going to change—”

Levi was before her in one stride, hauling her to eye-level by her shoulders. _“That was not your decision to make.”_ His gaze was livid beneath messy fringe—she had never _seen_ him so impassioned.

Mikasa recovered from the shock of his behavior, rising to her full height and pushing him away with a rough shove of her hand. He hardly moved, despite her strength, but it allowed her some breathing room. “I wasn’t about to sit on my ass just because I’m _indispensable_ while my comrades risked their lives! It’s we who can put a stop to this whole thing.” She gestured between them. “Bond, abilities, doesn’t matter the reason. It’s the two of _us,_ Levi!”

Of course he was right; she _knew_ she’d made a selfish decision by going around authority. Not to mention foolish.

But.

“You would have done the same if roles were reversed.” She cleared her throat against that irritating waver. “Don’t deny it.”

He was silent for a moment before murmuring a short, “I don’t.”

“I thought you trusted me.”

The anger on Levi’s face faltered, momentarily replaced by a look of mild surprise. “Mikasa…” He pressed his lips together, exhaling through his nose and carding both hands through his dark hair. Then he chuckled—a tired, mirthless sound. “You have much more than my trust.”

The words hung in her mind, repeating like a riddle—one that didn’t need to be solved but she insisted on analyzing all the same. It was a statement of fact, no confession or proclamation—he’d already moved on from the topic, sitting down on the cot with a tired sigh while she remained standing, pondering.

Observing.

Levi pressed his forehead against his palms, slender fingers curving, and her gaze traced over his hands—his nails, astonishingly neat despite the circumstances, the veins winding down his wrists and forearms, the abrasions left behind by the cuffs encircling his wrists.

“This place…” She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. “I never thought I’d come back here.” His eyes were hidden beneath his bangs, but she could see the tension in his jaw. “And if I get out…” He dragged a hand down his face, clearing the reverie. “I’m worried not all of me is gonna come back.”

Some point on the floor held his focus, and for a while, neither spoke. He rubbed absently at a scuff on his pant leg, the blank look on his face unmistakable. If a man such as Levi was capable of _breaking down,_ this was probably what it would look like. He thumbed the spot on his pant once again, and Mikasa’s eyes were inexplicably drawn to the motion.

Dirt. It was _dirty._

Everything was filthy—they were _surrounded_ by dirt, _buried_ hundreds of feet below it. Mikasa’s gut twisted with a strange, vicarious revulsion as if she were witnessing it all for the first time—the dirt, the soil and rock and clay, were not organic compounds in his mind but bars on a cage. This _place_ held history, and it held _filth._ He wasn’t afraid of leaving a piece of himself behind, he was afraid of bringing something _with_ him—something that wouldn’t wash off.

“I told you I was going to get you out of here.” Her voice came out firmer than intended—commanding. “That means all of you.”

Gray eyes drifted to her for only a moment, and she _hated_ that hollow look he gave her; he didn’t believe her. Or perhaps he thought she didn’t understand. “Maybe I made a mistake.” The ground captured his attention again. His voice had never sounded so lost to her, so hollow. “She gave me a choice and I should have...”

Mikasa thought she understood, vaguely, and it filled her with a strange emotion. “How did you convince Rikard to bring you here?

His head moved, as if she’d called his name from far away, stirred him from a dream. “I didn’t. He came to my cell.” He rubbed at the dirt on his pants again. “I guess you could say he felt guilty or something.”

“He knows about the bond,” Mikasa ventured, steeling herself for his reaction. To her shock, he only nodded. “I didn’t tell him,” she quickly added.

“I know. He was pretty forthright. About a lot of things.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, and her eyes fell to the movement. He was entirely walled up, barricaded in with his thoughts. She could _see_ the wheels turning behind his eyes, as if he could think his way out of their situation.

It wasn’t until that moment that she actually registered how good looking she found him. She wasn’t going to deny the mutual attraction between them, but she’d never consciously considered how physically pleasing he was. Possibly even handsome. How odd.

Mikasa wondered then what he thought of her. She wanted—no, _needed_ to know. Their reunion hadn’t exactly gone the way she would have liked. Then again, most if not all their interactions tended to devolve into an argument.

He made space on the cot for her to sit when she began to remove her boots. She didn’t take it. It was only at the sound of her blouse being unbuttoned did Levi slowly turn his head and really look at her. The blouse joined her shoes.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, expression no longer hollow.

“What does it look like?” She stood there for a moment, oddly feeling like she was preparing for a sparr. He made to stand, but her hand shot up. “Stay.”

There would have been a time when he’d have riled at her tone, and a time before that when it was considered backtalk. Any lines delineating such boundaries had since been well beyond blurred. And they were well beyond caring.

The bond crackled—stronger than ever, yet just out of grasp, stretching out and out. Levi’s slate eyes roamed over her face, expression softening as he took her in. Mikasa’s entire frame trembled, and every bit of control she possessed went toward masking it. The bond flexed and pulled, stretched taut like a drum, urging her toward some form of release—to fight, to run, _anything_. “Take off your shirt.”

His brow did arch at that. At her brazenness, most likely, because surely he wasn’t surprised by where this was going. He didn’t react immediately, his eyes leaving her face and trailing down in a shameless examination of her form. Then his hands went to the hem of his shirt. “Brat.”

“Shorty.”

The barest hint of a smile ghosted across his mouth, and for some reason it gave her confidence. Then, as if to rebel against her orders, he forsook his shirt task and removed his own boots instead, that barely-there smirk still clinging to his mouth.

“Why do you always fight me?” she asked, voice coming out as a whisper, heart hammering like mad in her chest.

His eyes burned a trail across her exposed skin, and she was relieved to see something in their depths other than that bleak emptiness. “I could ask you the same thing.” The muscles of his sides flexed as he finally lifted his shirt over his head. “In fact, I’d say you’re usually the one to start it.”

The thrill of competition made Mikasa’s chest flutter. She’d seen him without a shirt during training or on exceptionally hot days, but _this_ was decidedly different—the moment suddenly seemed very real, and it left her feeling stranded. Indeed, she’d started this, but she was unsure of what to do next. Before nerves could get the best of her, she unzipped the front of her pants, hoping he couldn’t see the tremble in her hands as she slid the garment over her hips.

Now in nothing but her underthings, she stared him down. He would have to stand to remove his own pants, but she’d told him to stay, so he wasn’t moving. The notion of him _obeying_ her words was strange, and somewhat thrilling. He was _waiting._ The restless feeling in her abated some—she felt more in control of the moment, and considered that maybe he was just as wired as she.

It was her move, then. She called the shots and it was her move. Levi’s face was controlled as ever, but she could see the tension in his body, the way he held himself _literally_ at the edge of his seat. She watched him breathe in as her hand reached behind her back to find the fastenings—

The bed creaked beneath Levi as he shot to standing. Mikasa faltered, bindings held in place by her hands. He was before her in a heartbeat, fingers hovering but not touching, the heat of his body like a furnace. She kept her gaze on his mouth, the spark of a challenge still burning in her belly but tempered by that earlier trepidation. His thumb slid across the hollow of her throat, his long fingers tracing feather-light over her clavicle and down to where her hands still clasped at her chest.

A soft exhale left her as the cool air kissed her flesh. His dark gaze flicked up to her face, her mouth, and then back down. Her head spun with a lightness that was not from the bond—her skin was aflame. His oh so light touch left gooseflesh in its wake, and she shuddered as a finger caught along the peak of her breast.

 _“Levi,”_ she breathed, his name half a moan.

Something deep resonated in his chest—a growl, a groan, she didn’t know—and then his arms were around her, pulling her against him, and she could have wept because it was too fucking perfect the way his mouth molded over hers. His hands were everywhere, scorching her—down her back, the sides of her breasts, the tender flesh of her hips.

Another groan rumbled in his throat as her hands tangled in the soft strands of his hair. She was unabashedly pressing herself against him, as if she wanted to meld their bodies together. Finally, because even this wasn’t close enough, Levi grabbed the back of her thighs and brought her legs around his hips.

For a moment, their kiss broke, and he tossed her onto the cot. Then he was over her, surrounding her with his body, his lips, his breath, and she met him with equal frenzy. Her heart was an erratic thing in her chest, thrashing against the confines of her ribs and threatening to split her open.

“You were right,” she said between kisses. He brushed his lips along her jaw, listening. “It’s not the same.”

The faint curve of his smile pressed against her neck, quickly replaced by the blunt edge of his teeth as he retraced his path across her jaw. “No, it’s not,” he agreed, fingers sliding across her clothed sex and making her shiver.

“Take off your pants,” she gasped.

He pressed the heel of his hand against her. “Quit bossing me around.” Clever fingers curled beneath the fabric of her underwear, and the slick heat he encountered there made him hiss through his teeth. _“Fuck, Mikasa.”_

They were kissing again, his tongue emulating the strokes of his fingers. It was slow—rhythmic and gentle. And it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Please,” she rasped, fingers scrabbling at his belt. “Please take off your _fucking_ pants.”

His hand emerged from between her thighs and met hers at his belt, and she felt the rush of success in her gut...and then he was stopping her. His hand was over hers, very clearly calling a halt to the moment.

“What are you doing?” she whined, arching against him in frustration.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder, breath hot and heavy against her clavicle. “Not like this,” he said, grasping her hip firmly when she tried to move against him.

Mikasa threw her head back against the pillow, groaning in frustration. “Then _how_ else would you like to do it.”

“I’m not gonna frantically fuck you on some shitty mattress in a shitty room. Especially if this is...if we don’t…” He didn’t really need to say it, because that dread was looming like a dark cloud above their heads. And suddenly they had so much more to lose.

“Is that was you think?” She carded her hand through his hair, the other going to his jaw as she forced his face to her. “No,” she growled, and suddenly he was on his back—which was some feat, considering the narrow acreage of the cot. He tried to sit up, but then she was moving and he collapsed back down. “I told you I’d get you out of here,” she said. “We aren’t fucking dying,” a small gasp of breath left her as her hips rolled forward, and she faltered for the briefest moment, “you understand?”

Those gray eyes burned, his jaw tense as if he were clinging to the vestiges of his control. She ground her hips once more and his eyes fluttered. _“Fuck.”_

She caught his jaw again, and his own hand leapt to her wrist upon instinct. Always a battle, and she _liked it_ because she could see how clearly he did too. She could _feel_ it. “Stop. Fucking. Thinking.”

He shot to seated, hoisting her backward onto his thighs to then fumble open the front of his pants. Her hand dove between them and found his firm flesh, driving a strangled groan from him. His grip on her hips was verging on painful, and she could feel the taught restraint in his body as he tried to keep still.

“I…” she began, and he tensed for a new reason, sensing her hesitation. Her face heated, aware that she was now the one over thinking. “It’s been a while.” Indeed. A _long_ while. She’d done this once before and that had been a few _years_ ago.

Levi’s hands were warm and steady against her waist, thumbs pressing ever so lightly—a wordless conveyance—and he leaned forward to press his forehead against her sternum. She felt his breath between her breasts, down her belly, felt him nod softly. “Yeah, me too.”

It was a strange thing to think about—if she let herself think about it—that the two of them should be here, so intimate and connected. The man beneath her seemed a different person from the man she’d known as her superior or captain—then again, she hardly recognized herself. How could they be the same after the experiences they’d shared over the past few months? It seemed like a different life, a different reality. And pulling him to her now, shifting to connect their flesh so it matched that bridge in their minds, she didn’t know how things could ever be the same.

Oh, and that was fine with her. The feeling of him inside her was fine too, and the way he grit his teeth against her throat and surged beneath her. If she angled back, she discovered the delightful press of his lower abdomen against that most tender place on her sex as she sunk down. She felt powerful moving upon him, meeting him again and again and then catching his mouth with hers—he made her feel powerful.

They should slow down—she wanted to savor this moment, didn’t want it to end too soon. Her release was more in her mind still, but it was there, beckoning like a distant flame. Levi seemed to be growing wise to the effectiveness of this angle, and he tilted her hips with a firm grip so she rubbed more directly against him every time she shifted down. The flame was now not so distant, and she suddenly couldn’t recognize the sound of her voice—the breathy sighs, torn from her throat and mingling in part with his name, and she _loved_ to say it, over and over again, and he shouldn’t stop because it was _right there—!_

And then she was consumed, burning and twisting in the flame, her words no longer real but something foreign—glossolalia. His mouth arched over her own, swallowing her cries as she spasmed around him. The world shifted, and suddenly the cot was against her back, her knees to the air, and he was moving again, desperate. The feeling of him moving in her made her sigh and open more for him. She wanted to remember the feeling of his hair between her fingers, his waist held captive in her thighs, and then the heat of his breath against her neck, her jaw, the way his hands gripped at her legs and sides and breasts. She said his name again, and then whispered in his ear like a confession, and entirely unthinking, _“let me feel.”_

Her head was wrenched back by the sudden, unexpected force of it—waves of coiled feeling furling and unfurling, and she didn’t know where she began and he ended. He gave a stifled groan against her neck, thrusting into her once, twice, and then she didn’t know if she was coming again or just feeling him. And then it was gone, too soon, but it left her boneless.

“Did that just...work?” she panted, hoping he’d assimilate her meaning—he’d _shared_ something with her through the bond.

Apparently he did understand—because of course he would. “Whatever it was, it worked very well.”

They lay there, breaths returning, bodies cooling, and Mikasa felt enough of her senses revive to lift her hand and find his face where it rested near her breast. His fingers stirred beside her hips, hands curving to the shape of her. There was no rush to move, to speak. She combed through his hair, lulled by the tantric rhythm of his ribs expanding above her, and she thought the lump in her throat was at odds with the fullness in her chest.

His mouth moved against her skin, and there was something significant in the press of his lips, something that branded and marked. “This,” he said, indicating the white scar on the outer side of her right thigh.

“Rikard. The knife he threw at the cave.”

Dark fringe obscured his face from her as he bent his head down, and for a moment he just stayed there. His fingers were light against the faded wound, moving to trace the lines left behind by her gear—markings he too bore. “I’m sorry about earlier. Fighting with you was the last thing I wanted.”

A coy smirk worked its way to her mouth. “I thought you missed fighting with me.” He was serious though, and she sobered, reaching out to pull him over her again. “We’re getting out of here. Even if we have to fight our way out.”

Gray eyes roamed her features, fluttered shut as she shifted his hair away from his face. He nodded, and then he leaned in to claim her mouth. This kiss was different, slower and softer than any of the others, and she thought a lot of things were worth it just for this kind of kiss.

They knew this was temporary—there were other things, less pleasant things, looming in the distance, and time was one of them. Even this development in the bond—was it something in the moment, or was the inexplicable barrier between their connection gone? And if Hanji and her squadron really had been compromised, then capitulation was not an option. The promise of a fight perhaps roared the loudest among the fray of troubles.

But for a moment they just lay there, cradled in some kind of half-daze, half-euphoria state that thrummed like the bond, sharing in what little time they did have. Suspended.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Also, thank you to my homegirl Madam Muffins, who doesn’t even ship Rivamika but has been like a total supportive hero babe throughout this whole thing. Just gaaaah go check out her awesome fics if you want some good writing and plot and strong female leads.


	20. Gallows Pole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I read thru the story again to make sure everything was flowing alright and that I wasn’t missing anything in my notes. Glad I did; I discovered a pretty key error. It was mentioned in an early chapter that Eren knew about Levi’s imprisonment and the Rivamika bond, and then I had my head up my ass and dropped that. It was an easy fix, but, to set the record straight, Eren doesn’t know. Poor Eren. If you feel like you need more clarity, feel free to read the (minor) scene change I made to the beginning of chapter 7. Anyway, onwards.

It was unnerving, the sight of them; like a pair of silent coyotes they sat, regarding him with their dark, hematite eyes.

“Alright, let’s go,” was all he said.

Together, as if some silent cue had passed between them, both Ackermans rose from their cot vantage and approached. Mikasa kept her noble head high, eyes dead straight, as the manacles were fastened about her proffered wrists. Levi was next, and with the jailor’s focus on the cuffs, the shorter man cast his blank stare upon Rikard—the briefest nod, a wordless conveyance. Rikard returned it.

“Take them to Red Mother,” he bade the jailor. The parting look he received from Mikasa was decidedly less cordial than her compeer’s.

The rationale behind his actions last night wasn’t all that clear to him. Reparation? Peace? _Guilt?_ Maybe a bit of each. Not that he could atone for anything. Levi hadn’t argued or asked much beyond the reason for Rikard’s presence at his cell. Which, really, was fine by him—he didn’t exactly have an answer, anyway. But that _brief_ slip in Mikasa’s mask, the vulnerable shuffle of emotions across her usually stoic face as he’d marched Levi into her room, had served as a kind of answer all on its own.

His sister’s derisive sneer dogged his memory, her voice distinct above the purposive pound of his footsteps as he strode through the halls: _you’re too soft. Always have been._

And maybe he was, though not as she’d meant it.

It had been a mistake to bargain with Levi from day one. Even at the time, he was aware that any information gleaned would expect its weight in full. The role of the perfidious captain, however, so ready to sell out his own compatriots because he had _never really one of them to begin with,_ had been one Levi played well. It all seemed so ridiculous now. Then again, hindsight was a cruel bitch.

And, yes, he had gotten cocky. Gloated, even, all the while being _played._ So what? Their plan had failed in the end; true, being so easily beguiled had been a blow to his ego, but he wasn’t the one marching to the gallows. _You’re too soft. Always have been._ Probably, but it wasn’t pity he felt. The Ackermans were perhaps the least pitiful people he’d ever encountered. Even his own sister, for all her callous rage, willingly carried the mantle of _victim_ about her shoulders.

Perhaps he was just a mawkish fool whose weak heart bled for two soldiers finding something in each other in their final hour. Maybe.

Or, for the first time since his sister had fanned the flames of rebellion and saddled him with the charge of a legacy, he’d actually _felt_ something.

Well, too late now, wasn’t it. Everything was too late. The rows of cells flanking him on either side of the hall—Rubie’s so-called “new homes” she had planned to fill with her long list of sinners once she’d had her day of reckoning—were just empty, wasted spaces at this point. He neared the only occupied cell at the end of the hall, the one belonging to yet another cultivator of his guilt. She and the ones before her.

It had only taken countless numbers of abducted children until they’d finally found the rumored Titan child, and he told himself he deserved the queasiness in his gut whenever he thought about them. And he watched as, just like her predecessors, that fire faded from Dennard’s amber gaze as time wore on, overshadowed by an empty look of capitulation. There really was something different about this girl, though—not just in the all-consuming _hatred_ she could unleash upon him with just her eyes alone, but in the accelerated rate with which she healed. Did he still doubt? Of course, and he found himself hoping each day that her odium would return. _Hate me, hate me, hate me. Please._

“Alright, kid. Get up.” She didn’t reply, but he wasn’t expecting her to. He was eager to get moving, however—the sooner they made for Chlorba, the better. The others would be no doubt reluctant to leave the barren monastery they’d called home for nearly two years, but their devotion to his sister far outweighed any emotional attachment they held for these caverns. _Sheep._ “Oi,” he prompted, squinting into the darkened cell as he fumbled with the keys, “wake up, kid."

From this distance, in this light, he would have thought she was sleeping had it not been for the violent and erratic way her small body lurched about on the cot. Her hands were fists at her sides, arms and legs stiff and thrashing as her back arched and twisted.

“Hell,” he breathed. Wrenching open the door, keys forgotten somewhere on the dark floor, he ran to her side. “Oi, kid!” He clamped her arms to her body, hissing as her fist flew free and clouted his jaw. “Wake up!” he bellowed at her listless face. The girl grunted in pain as a particularly vicious jolt sent her head back to clatter against the stone of the cell. “Dennard!”

And just like that, as if her name were the breaking of a spell, her eyes flew open. She gave a ragged gasp, her chest heaving as if she’d just sprinted a mile. Rikard didn’t know what to do, torn between giving her space and offering some awkward token of comfort. He settled for a hand on her upper arm, anchoring the small limb. She choked in another breath, a half sob, her pale hands clutching at his sleeve as her wild eyes looked beyond him and searched the darkened ceiling. He waited for her to scramble away from him, for recognition to dawn, but her grasp on his shirt held firm.

“The hell just happened?” She flinched at his tone, his grip on her arm, so he lightened both. “Are you alright?”

Her honey-colored eyes finally drifted to meet his, and he saw a flare of that old spark in their depths. “You,” she whispered, looking at her own hands clutching at his shirt, back to his face. “It’s not too late.”

“What?” He leaned in to better hear. “What’s not too late?”

“If you have a heart at all,” she began, eyes once more drifting as some thought derailed her.

“Dennard.” He gave her shoulders a gentle shake.

“You’ll never make it to Chlorba.”

At this he stood, backed away. “The hell are you on about. Quit fucking around.” How did she know about that? There was no way she could have known about such plans to move camp—even the jailor was kept in the dark, so it wouldn’t have been possible for her to hear it from him.

She ignored his question. The low timbre of her voice—the certainty there—was at odds with her youth, and it so deeply unsettled him that all he could do was _listen._ “But you still have a choice, Rikard.” The cot creaked as she rose to seated, and a thin trail of blood fell from her nose and trickled down her lip. It didn’t seem to register with her. “If you have a heart at all, you’ll help them.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Levi.”

She said his name and it was like he was hearing it for the first time, so familiar yet so sweetly foreign on her tongue. He’d never liked his name before she said it; now he just wanted to hear it played over and over in the timbre of her voice, rising and falling, those two syllables, so he could feel like maybe he’d done something right for once.

She had been _real,_ warm in his hands and against his skin, and it hadn’t been a one sided dance because she had moved _with_ him. It was a strange thing—that someone could enjoy him—and he wanted to engrave the memory of her face in ecstasy onto his fucking brain.

She spoke again, a little sharper, dragging him from his thoughts, _“Levi.”_ The question was absent from her tone but reflected in her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, the dynamic of captain and subordinate was felt. She was _waiting._

Still, he didn’t answer, surveying the Redeemers in their red garb—clumping like ants and just waiting for them to try something. His gaze landed on a tall man, on the gun in his hands. It was a rudimentary weapon, a flintlock, but a gun was a gun.

This was how you put down a dog. He would have laughed…

Mikasa had taken to observing the scene herself, too preoccupied to notice his gaze had returned to her. The tension was evident in her brow, but she kept her chin lifted, her shoulders squared. No, _not like this._ Death would come for Mikasa in the throes of battle, bathed in blood, or at the end of a long life after all the battles had been fought. But not like this.

“Oi,” he murmured, and her head snapped to him. There was a flash of something so incredibly raw in her eyes, and it echoed in his chest. Resolve was quick to conceal the leak in her emotions, but he’d seen them, seen the fear, her rage. “I…”

He should say something, impart a final phrase, but his tongue was a useless thing. Or maybe he just had too many words and too little time to say them. Ironically, it would all be easier to convey through the bond, and he pushed against it anyway despite the unrelenting resistance. He could feel her on the other side, however—the anxiety in her gut that he too shared, the anticipation. Her fingers grazed his own, and he glanced down to their shackled hands as they joined. She said more in a single touch than he could in words—no one had ever touched him like this. How ironic that he should know it now.

 _“Mikasa.”_ Perhaps her name was enough—a broken whisper on his lips.

She pulled him to her. Their chains made it a difficult embrace, but he made do with burying his nose in her hair and clutching her elbow in both hands. She curled into him, breath stuttering in his ear, all her carefully concealed emotions revealed within an exhale. _“I will fight with you,”_ she breathed, and the words galvanized him, because Mikasa Ackerman wouldn’t die like a dog. _“I will fight with you, Levi.”_

And then he was yanked back, separated from her by ungentle hands. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” the jailor groused. Then he chuckled, low and unfriendly, voice a rancid puff in Levi’s ear. “Smile, _dog,”_ he jerked his chin at the woman approaching, “for the Red Mother.”

Rubie had eschewed that balmy smile, her face grim. “I gave you a choice, Ackerman.” Her gaze shifted to his left, to Mikasa. “The last of your kind,” she murmured, a look of dismay flitting across her face. “What a waste.” She turned then to address the soldiers present, voice magnified against the rock. “Let’s go. I want us moving within an hour,” and then, quieter, to the gunman, “get this done quickly.”

A pair of onyx eyes burned into Levi’s periphery. _Waiting._ This was seeming less like a grand entry and more like…an utter failure. “Hanji, cutting it close,” he gritted through his teeth.

This could very well be it; Dennard’s vatic words echoed long and loud in his mind, and he was well aware that this could be the moment they came to fruition. Mikasa, undoubtedly, knew this too. But in his name he heard her answer, as there was no fatalism there but a sense of preparedness in her tone. _I will fight with you._

The jailor drove them both to kneel on the ground before their executioner, his broad hands heavy upon their shoulders. If Hanji were waiting for her moment, this was it.

Mikasa’s anxiety rippled through the bond. _“Levi,”_ she hissed. She wanted to fight, would rather die that way than on her knees staring down a barrel.

 _“Wait.”_ He was gambling like the bastard he was—for a moment, he was besieged by the wretched ghost of his uncle, and felt very much Kenny Ackerman’s nephew.

A soft pressure applied itself to the back of his hand. Mikasa slipped her fingers along the chafed ridges of his knuckles, and he felt that there was more than trust in her caress.

 _“Those who have been wronged shall be avenged, and those who are forsaken shall be redeemed,”_ Rubie intoned, and Levi wondered if she were mocking him, as if she _knew_ how much hearing that pithy Redeemer locution in his final moments would utterly gall him.

The hollow _click_ of the gun’s hammer called Levi’s gaze upward, to the gunman, and for a moment he saw himself in the man’s face. He closed his eyes.

_“Levi—“_

The roar split the clearing with all the fury of a tempest, the sound as haunting as it was familiar. Levi’s eyes flew open, face turning to Mikasa—and he didn’t need to say a thing, didn’t need to give a signal, because she already _knew._ They moved as one.

The gunman gave a yelp of surprise, his head snapping back as Mikasa drove the heel of her palm into his jaw. He held firm to the gun, however, fighting for ownership despite the river of blood weeping from his nostrils. Levi pulled the shackles at his wrists to their complete length, his elbow connecting with someone’s face. He didn’t stop to see whom, surging toward the jailor’s turned back and giving the chain a new purpose around the man’s broad neck. He roared with rage, arms swinging like battle axes, body lurching to and fro in an attempt to fling Levi from him.

The clearing was alive with shouts: commands and a call to arms, exclamations of fright. Another great roar sounded, and Levi knew the Titan’s distraction was the only reason someone hadn’t pulled him from the jailor yet. A pair of wide, green eyes caught his attention. Rubie. Her brow was bloodied. His attention was wrenched from her as the man beneath him veered suddenly.

Levi dug his knees deeper into the jailor’s back, urging himself higher, grimacing against the repeated blows to his sides from the man’s fists. Mikasa had successfully claimed ownership of the gun, her opponent a groaning mess at her feet. She locked eyes with Levi, hesitating but a moment before racing forward and delivering a swift kick to the jailor’s gut. The man lurched but remained standing. Mikasa gritted her teeth in frustration, sending another kick lower. This doubled him, and his knees hit the ground.

“The keys,” he instructed Mikasa. She snatched them from the jailor’s belt. “You first,” he said when she hesitated. She tucked the gun beneath her arm and unlocked her manacles.

A pained wheeze left the jailor, his hand patting feebly at the metal noose around his neck. Levi nodded once at Mikasa before bending forward to the man’s fleshy ear, something very bitter and void of clemency curling in his chest as he murmured, _“smile, dog.”_

Mikasa cocked the gun and fired.  

The report rang across the rock, repeating and dispersing through the stalactite teeth of the cavern. For a moment, there was a suspension, like the shot had cut through the chaos and clamor and inspired all to hold their breath. Then there was movement. Crimson tunics billowed about them like a flock of deadly cardinals—Redeemers to his left, his right. Mikasa’s back hovered against his own, and he could feel her stance, her tension, their bond beating in his ears like a second pulse. A heady madness overtook him then, and for once his mind became blissfully blank.

Months spent wasting away in a four-walled world, all the hours in the dark, suddenly melted away replaced by the rush of adrenaline; there was only so much he could maintain within a cage, but bringing his fist to meet the unprotected side of a Redeemer felt like second nature. His elbow cracked across a nose, and he relished the crunch of cartilage and bone.

A pair of hands descended upon his shoulders, a leg driving itself behind his knee in an attempt to wrestle him into the dirt. Again the chain proved useful—pivoting in the dirt, he secured it about his assailant’s neck, turning them both around before flinging the groaning man into another advancing Redeemer.

“Protect your queen!” a voice bellowed. “Put ‘em down!”

There was no turning back now. No surrender. Either they fought to the death or fought until every last red-clad adversary had fallen. Levi knew the odds had been far from their favor, but he’d underestimated just how _quickly_ the Redeemers would rally—voices rang against the rock walls, carrying through the tunnels as reinforcements made for the scene. It seemed for every man they felled, another three took his place.

“Levi, catch.” Mikasa tossed the keys toward him. She kept her eyes on the encroaching Redeemers while he went to work on his cuffs.

The manacles fell away not a moment too soon, and he spun just in time to avoid the deadly arc of a blade. The Redeemer attacked again, the knife cutting through the air with a dull _hiss,_ and again he evaded—slice, duck, repeat. On the fourth pass, the man scored a cut along Levi’s left shoulder. He was better prepared by the fifth strike, his hands capturing the man’s wrist and effectively dislodging the weapon from his grasp.

The fight was Levi’s—at least, it should have been, had his focus not momentarily faltered; Mikasa gave a sharp cry of pain, and all it took was the brief dart of his eyes in her direction for the Redeemer to regain the upper hand.

Levi landed on his side but drove his foot into the back of the man’s knee, bringing him to the ground as well. Both men scrambled for the discarded knife. Levi caught a glimpse of Mikasa as he reached for the blade, saw her grappling with a woman about her same size. The wound on her shoulder wept red trails to her elbow; and as his fingers found purchase on the hilt, he realized the knife had never cut him at all.

The second blade came out of nowhere, soaring like a swift past his vision. The Redeemer beside him gave a pained gurgle, his fingers fumbling at the knife protruding from his neck. Then he went still.

A familiar sound came from above—the woosh of pressurized air—and Levi rolled to his back to see the Wings of Freedom soar by. He scanned the mass of green; Hanji wasn’t amongst the rescue, but he recognized Efran immediately. It was odd to see the man in 3dmg, and he clearly felt uncomfortable in the gear. He handled the landing well enough, however.

“Efran,” Levi said, and then, “you took your damn time”.

The tattooed sheathed his blades with a grin. The expression faltered as he approached. “Shit, you look...like shit.”

“Thanks, I was going for an uncultivated look.” He bent to retrieve both knives, grimacing at the sucking, wet sound the one made as he pulled it from the Redeemer’s neck. “Nice grand entry, by the way. I appreciated the suspense.”

Mikasa’s voice cut across the clearing. “She’s getting away!”

A dash of red, set apart from the others, flitted through the fray and disappeared through a tunnel. Mikasa took off like a shot in pursuit of Rubie, vaulting over fallen bodies and swerving to avoid the ongoing battle in the center of the clearing.

“Mikasa!” Efran bellowed, turning his anxious gaze to Levi. Nothing needed to be said, and together the two men took off after the ebony-haired woman.

Anxiety gripped Levi’s chest as Mikasa passed out of sight. He kept on, pressing on the bond so as not to lose track of her completely. “Bloody-minded woman,” Levi cursed under his breath.

They reached the tunnel, Efran falling in line behind Levi. “Keep going, I’ll catch up,” he shouted. Levi didn’t wait.

It was damp and airless within the narrow space, the ceiling low even for Levi; no doubt Efran would have to bend his head. The pebbled ground twisted left, and then sometimes right again, winding like a labyrinth. Levi dug his nails into the meat of his palm, focusing on the bite of pain there, keeping his breath even as he raced through the confined passageway.

The tunnel ended abruptly after a right turn, opening up to a large chamber that Levi didn’t recognize. The air was cooler here—cleaner, as if there were an opening nearby for a draft to pass through. Levi took a breath. Efran emerged shortly after him, having forsaken his ODM gear. Both men took a moment to scan the space, seeing no sign of Mikasa.

“Fuck, that woman’s fast,” Efran breathed, dragging a hand across his inked pate.

It was true, and Levi couldn’t help but think it his comeuppance for a time months ago when he’d greatly outpaced her in a similar circumstance. The terrain was in her favor now, the stretches of ground well-suited for her longer limbs and endurance.

“We’ve lost them,” Efran despaired, rubbing at his head again.

Levi didn’t reply, focusing on the pulse of the bond as he tested a theory.

_Thanks for waiting, brat._

Silence stretched. And then her voice. _Not my fault you fell behind._

Levi’s eyes rolled to the rocks above his head in his efforts to battle his inquietude—they weren’t out of the woods yet; the events of Dennard’s premonition remained plausible. “You damn fool.”

“Pardon?” Efran arched a brow.

“Wasn’t talking to you.”

“Ah.”

Something indefinable tugged at his senses, and Levi felt the urge to yield to its pull. He started forward, jogging blindly. “C’mon. I know where she is—”

“Levi Ackerman.”

It struck him then that he’d never once seen Rikard wear the scarlet robe of a Redeemer, and he found that odd. Nonetheless, there the man stood, clad in red—winded. He must have followed them through the tunnel.

Levi felt Efran’s gaze on him. The man was no doubt prepared to attack should Levi so much as give the word. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“And I don’t expect anything. But I can help—”

“You’d best be on your way, Rikard.”

The red-haired man was persistent, however. Levi didn’t know why he remained listening to him—he could feel the distance growing between him and Mikasa.

“I know where they’re going. Where Rubie’s going.”

“Yeah, well, so do I. Don’t need your help.” He turned to leave, Efran following suit.

“Dennard told me how to save her.”

That...that stopped him. His heart stuttered painfully in his chest. _This was some kind of trick._

“Why did Dennard transform?” He kept his back to Rikard, not willing to give more than his time.

“Distraction. Look, you have no reason to trust me, and I wish there were more time to explain it,” a pause, the man’s breath still returning, “but Dennard had another vision and gave me some pretty specific instructions to follow.”

 _“Levi,”_ Efran hissed, voice thick with misgiving. To him, this probably sounded like the ramblings of a mad man.

But too many things lined up. And that tension in Levi’s chest was only curling tighter.

“Try to keep up,” he spat, ignoring Efran’s stuttering objections.

Another tunnel, this one longer but, thankfully, not as confining. Rikard never lagged, wordlessly following behind Levi and tailed by the ever watchful Efran.

“I hear something,” Efran called from the rear. “Up ahead. Sounds like water.”

The noise increased the closer they got the the end of the passageway, the air becoming cooler. The stark spill of natural light around the bend confirmed Levi’s suspicion of an opening in the cavern. Rounding the corner, Levi was momentarily blinded as he stepped from the darkness of the tunnel, and it took him several seconds before he could turn his face to the massive fissure in the rock’s ceiling revealing the bare sky.

The ground here was slightly more fertile, though the green was fungal in nature, and many of the larger rocks bore lichen. The sound of water was nearly deafening now, the air thick with moisture. It was utterly _freezing_ out here, a fact which both invigorated and annoyed Levi.

The bluff they stood on stretched on for a few meters before ending abruptly. Levi wondered how far down the water lay.

“A river, perhaps?” Efran shouted above the noise, echoing Levi’s thoughts.

Rikard nodded. “It’s a tributary from the river barge.” He gestured to the broad, curving wall of rock to their right. “There’s a break somewhere in the river’s floor and it empties into a pool several miles up that way. This gorge is the trickle down.”

 _Trickle down_ seemed a bit of an understatement. Curiosity drew Levi toward the ledge, where the gray sky above became more visible. A winter draft past through the chasm, chilling him.

The size of the river wasn’t what shocked him—it was actually a bit narrower than the barge. The _velocity_ of the water, however, the sheer rage with which it tore down the gorge and battered the rock, was nothing short of imposing. He shivered deeply as his hair and clothes grew damp from the spray.

Movement of a different kind caught his eye—to his left, on the fringe of his vision. The ledge narrowed as it continued along the craggy wall of the gulch, the terrain growing steep and uneven. And there in the distance, at the top of the escarpment, were Mikasa and Rubie. Mid battle.

Levi took off toward the incline without so much as a backward glance to the men behind him. Efran shouted something at him, but the words were lost beneath the din of the watercourse.

Rikard caught up to him first, the steep stretch of rock proving to be more of a hill once he’d reached it. “Levi, wait.” His damp hair clung to his pale face, robe wine-black from the spindrift. “I’m not asking for amnesty here, for me or my sister. But I think I can subdue her. I think she’ll be more inclined to surrender if I can—“

The loose rocks shifted beneath their feet as Levi pulled Rikard forward by his collar. “You listen to me.” This close he didn’t need to shout, and his voice took on a direful rasp. “The only reason why I don’t haul your ass over the side of this cliff is because of what you did. But your sister will get no leniency from me.”

A very primal look of desperation crossed Rikard’s face, and Levi thought it was perhaps the most expressive he’d ever seen the man. “She will die,” he said, jaw clattering from the cold. He pointed a shaking finger up the slope to the women above. “Mikasa’s skill in battle is unparalleled, I know, but this is how she dies, Levi.”

Heady, misplaced excitement ignited in Levi’s chest, and for a moment he could only roil with the sensation. The urge to call out for Mikasa was strong, and he realized, belatedly, that he was too close to use the bond.

“If you don’t trust me, then trust Dennard,” Rikard said.

The crunch of slate and soil turned Levi’s head to the approaching Efran. “We don’t have a lot of time here, laddie,” the inked man said, eyes darting up the hill.

 _“Please,”_ Rikard implored, pulling free from Levi’s grip.

“Fine. Fucking go.”

He needed no further directive and took off up the incline at an impressive pace.

“Where the hell’s he going?” Efran yelled.

Levi motioned for him to follow, hoping the gesture would be reassurance enough, as formulating an explanation would take too long.

This didn’t feel right. Nothing about this felt right. Mikasa’s exhaustion was palpable through the connection, his own shoulder feeling the ache of her wound. The whole scene stretched out like one big nightmare, the loose slate and shingles beneath his feet making his ascent agonizingly slow. Rikard seemed to be having a much easier time scaling the terrain, and Levi suddenly wished for his ODM gear.

“Fuck this rock!” Efran bellowed from behind, suffering the same hardship as Levi. “How did that bastard get up there so fast?”

The ground was too precarious to look away from, so Levi was forced to pause momentarily. Sure enough, Rikard had successfully crested the top of the rise. He was saying something inaudible, inserting himself directly between the sparring women.

Levi put his head down again and charged forward a few more paces, nearly slipping on a damp rock that had begun to freeze over. He paused yet again to watch the scene above. Rikard had his back to Mikasa now—who was bent slightly, clutching her shoulder—his focus entirely on his sister.

Nearly there now, God he was nearly there. The rocks thinned, the frozen earth hard and compact beneath his boots and aiding in his climb. Something made him look up again, as if he’d been called for, and Mikasa’s head snapped to him at the same moment. His name played on her lips, and for a moment he could only stare back at her, all the things he longed to say lingering just there on his tongue.

He needed to move. He could get there and time, get there to Mikasa…

An icy feeling stole through Levi’s gut, and he faltered midstep. Rikard had shrugged off his cloak, letting the damp garment fall to the ground as he pulled his sister into an embrace. The sun broke through the gray clouds at that moment, turning their hair to flame and glinting off the metal tucked into Rikard’s belt.

A gun.

A tightening sensation presented itself at the back of Levi’s head—that familiar band of pressure that heightened his senses and charged his blood. He couldn’t even feel the cold. Rubie brought her arms around her brother’s waist, fingers just brushing against the weapon. She caught his gaze then from over Rickard’s shoulder, a look of surprise in her green orbs. Then her hand shifted back down her brother’s back, and he knew he wouldn’t make it, that even if he had ODM gear strapped to him he would still be too late. Still, he climbed—and he was just at the top now—some animalistic panic spurring his feet to eat up the distance, a name ripping from his lungs, _“MIKASA!”_

The shot rang across the expanse, above the roar of the river. Levi gave a pained grunt as if he’d been struck in the sternum, and for a moment he could only cling to the slope’s crest, eyes to his knees, knees to the dirt. The pressure in his head gave out, as much a relief as it was jarring. He pushed through the bond, unable to look with his eyes. _Pushed._

And met nothing.

Another small sound left him, a gasp of air as he finally forced his head up. His entire body was trembling, a weak sensation he had only felt once before when he was very, very young. He’d never recover from this. She was the one with the mortal wound, and he’d never be the same. Her face was turned away, pale skin obstructed by dark hair and _so much blood_. Motionless.

Efran was shouting something, face wild with rage as he tackled Rickard to the ground. Levi recognized his own name—Efran was calling him to action. For some unexplainable, desperate reason, Levi looked to the gun now pointed at him and waited for the next shot. _Hoped_ for it. Rubie’s virescent gaze was wall-eyed and crazed above the barrel, waiting in turn, and then she swiveled to the two men wrestling in the dirt. She hesitated.

The weightless defeat in his chest altered then to something akin to resignation—a deep sense of calm that narrowed his vision to one specific point and boiled his blood. It was a different feeling from before, but he knew it well. _This_ was something he could work with, something he could wield.

Molten ichor coursed through his veins, and the weak tremble vanished from his limbs. He felt the air drive from Rubie’s lungs as he barreled into her side, felt the gun tumble down his back. He pushed on, ignoring her desperate hands grappling at his shoulders, her fingernails scraping at his neck.

Rubie’s scream split the air as he drove them both over the rocky edge and into the raging river below.

 

* * *

 

 

Armin repeated his scripted conversation in his mind once again, the step of his boots ringing like a mantra through the hall. This wasn’t going to be easy. In fact, it was probably one of the hardest tasks he’d undertaken. Certainly the most painful.

No. There were those who had it more difficult than he. He felt ashamed.

The door lurked before him like a mahogany opponent prepared to spar. His hand clenched and unfurled by his side, and he knew he was just prolonging the inevitable. _Come on, Arlert._  

That monologue he had planned out promptly evaporated the moment the door opened.

There was an awkward moment of just standing there in the threshold, one staring at the other, the questions hanging thick between them. A few more beats passed, and Armin was grateful for the lack of interruption while he gathered his thoughts. Still, his friend had waited long enough for the truth, and it was only cruel to drag it out further. He held his breath.

“We need to talk, Eren.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the hardest one yet to write. For several reasons; the most obvious being that ending. You'll have questions, no doubt...and probably rage.


	21. When The Levee Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, unlike the previous chapter, I cranked this guy out in two days. But I'm utterly drained. Some angst ahead. I can't believe this thing is almost done, guys! I've so enjoyed going on this ride with you all. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me through it, and to everyone just arriving for their kind words and support!

****This was it. This was how she died.

One minute she was standing, the next she was flat on her back, all the wind driven from her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was roll onto her side and hold very, very still.

After a moment, when her breath had returned some, confusion set in. She should be dead, or at the very least spluttering blood. Her chest really _fucking_ hurt…

Tentatively, Mikasa tucked her chin and peered down at her person. There was...there was no blood. In fact, there was no wound at all. Still, her fingers fumbled along her shirt, pressing and prodding. She hissed in a breath when she crossed over her sternum. Bruised, but she could breathe alright, so probably not broken.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled mindlessly. And she was. She was absolutely fine. She should have been dead. “I’m...fine…”

Someone was yelling. She sat up too quickly, her head pounding in protest. Efran had his back to her, his stance defensive. Rikard, nose bloody, mirrored his pose. “Look! Just look!” he was yelling, pointing at her. Efran, of course, was not about to turn his back to an enemy, and rushed in for another attack.

“Efran!”

The man lurched mid stride, whipping around in a near comical fashion at the sound of her voice. His eyes bulged, mouth twisting. “Sweet fucking shit.” Rikard forgotten, he rushed to her side, falling to his knees and taking her face in his hands. “Lovely, are you alright?”

The fall had done more damage, it seemed, than the actual gun. Her coccyx was sore, and no doubt she’d have a nasty goose egg on the back of her head. The most egregious injury remained the cut across her bicep—it had finally stopped bleeding, but a surprising amount of blood had soaked down her arm.

“I’m alright,” she replied. Efran tried to offer his arm as she stood, but she brushed him away, eyes searching the area.

She couldn’t see Levi. Or Rubie.

There was a strange feeling of emptiness inside her, as if a background noise had suddenly shut off, thus making her aware of its presence in the first place. She reached out for that familiar connection, but the action suddenly felt silly––like she were leaping from a height sans her gear and expecting to fly. The feeling troubled her, inspired a mild panic, and she sought harder for his presence.

There was no bond.

Efran was speaking to Rikard, angry again. “You wanna fucking explain?”

The redhead sighed, eyes fluttering in exasperation. “I was trying to tell you.” His fingers prodded at his damaged nose. “Fuck, I think you broke it.”

“Did you a favor, gingersnap. Now you don’t look so much like a fucking vulture—“

“Where’s Levi?”

The inquiry froze both men, and something in her _knew._

“Efran. Efran, where is Levi?” It was all she could do to keep her voice even.

Efran opened his mouth to reply but didn’t speak, the words seemingly caught in his throat. She didn’t miss the brief glance he sent the bluff’s edge. She looked herself, back to him; the look on his face was enough of an answer. A strangled exhale left her involuntarily, and for a moment all she could do was stare at the ledge.

“He drove them both over,” he murmured.

No one said anything for a moment, not even Rikard. She gave the edge her back, walking toward the rocky slope up which she’d chased Rubie. Efran called her name, but she ignored him, mind elsewhere. Stopping, she turned back to the gorge, standing where he had been. He had been _right here._ She looked to her left, saw the patch of ice she’d slipped on.

“Mikasa,” Efran said again.

From here, she guesstimated about six yards lay between where Rubie had stood with the gun and where she’d slipped on the ice; both an equal distance to her current position. Like a triad. _He drove them both over._

“I made a blank,” Rikard said suddenly. “The kid. Dennard. She was having some kind of fit in her cell. Started saying things she had no possible way of knowing, and then she was talking about seeing you die.” He gestured toward Mikasa, a bleak chuckle leaving his lips. “Rubie was gonna shoot you, no way around it. At least, that’s what she saw in the vision. I needed time, a distraction.”

“She transformed,” Mikasa supplied.

Rikard nodded. “Even still, I barely had enough time to pull the bullet. I used wood for the wad. That’s what gave you that bruise.” He pointed at his own chest. “Bulleted blanks aren’t quite as loud as with a bullet, but a bigger crack than powder alone. It needed to look realistic.”

“Well it looked pretty fuckin’ realistic,” Efran spat. “Why all the theatrics? Why carry a _fucking gun_ in the first place?”

Exasperation overcame Rikard’s face, his hands flying up in a gesture of submission. “Look, I thought about that to. Believe you fucking me. But that kid was telling me about things that she couldn’t have known about. Said this kind of shit has happened before and there’s no stopping it. So I wasn’t about to go deviating from her instructions.”

“What shit?”

“The visions!”

Efran turned to Mikasa, clearly looking for her to share in his dubiety. He was met with her neutral expression.

“I believe you,” Mikasa said. “She saw her father’s death, too.” She looked out to the gorge once more, mind still whirring. Dennard didn’t see this. She _would_ have seen this...wouldn’t she?

Both men were squabbling again, their words only partly reaching her as she made her way back to the ledge to give the river a proper look. It widened at this point, but she had no way of telling how deep it was. Large rocks lined the marge, framing the water like ugly, black denticles. Impact with one of them, even the flat ones, would be fatal.

But if he’d driven them both far enough, if they’d landed just so in the current, maybe then…

Mikasa turned back to the men. They were watching her. “You need to find Hanji,” she told Efran.

“Yes, that’s probably best,” he replied, nodding grimly.

“And warn her about these stalactites,” she added, gesturing at the calcified stakes hanging above their heads. “It’s probably best to avoid them with ODM gear.”

Rikard shifted awkwardly, glancing between them as if waiting for someone to decide he was next to throw into the drink. He fell into step beside Efran, who followed Mikasa as she passed, both men thinking she was leaving with them.

Only when she reached Levi’s old vantage did she turn on her heel and sprint back for the edge. She suddenly wished for Armin’s mind—no doubt he’d be able to calculate the correct angle, the right velocity. Or, maybe, he’d just tell her this was suicide and she should keep her feet on land.

Too late now. If she leapt too far, she risked landing on the far rocks; too short, and she’d meet a similar fate on the bank below. Efran was calling her name, yelling for her to stop. She caught Rikard’s exclamation of “fucking Ackermans” right before she sailed over the brink.

It wasn’t a big drop, and she’d free-fallen much greater heights while killing Titans, but the absence of her gear seemed to make it far more thrilling—there was no safety net here, no room for error.

The river, she found, was rather deep; the water so cold, that for a brief moment she was convinced she’d miscalculated and hit something solid, that the gelid burn was actually her body breaking apart and splitting across some unyielding surface.

A pained gasp tore from her throat as she broke the surface, water assaulting her nostrils and mouth as the river pulled and pummeled her down its winding course. Hydrous hands dragged her under again, spinning her head over foot until she didn’t know up from down. She needed to orient herself, needed to regain control.

Salvation came in the form of a large boulder in the middle of the stream, and she only just managed to wrench herself around to avoid meeting its surface with her head. Her legs slammed against the rock, fingers grappling for purchase against its slick surface. She was now wrapped around the boulder, head submerged, the water continuing its relentless pound against her back. Just as her lungs began to beg for air, Mikasa’s fumbling hand finally clasped around a notch, and she managed to haul her torso up onto the wet stone.

Shivering violently, Mikasa clung to the boulder as she regained her breath. She grit her teeth in an attempt to stop them from clattering together so violently, but she was too short of wind to breathe through her nose. Her arm hurt, the cold water irritating the cut, but at least some of the blood had been cleaned away. After giving herself a moment to recover, she lifted her weak head to observe her surroundings.

The river had carried her a surprising distance from where she’d leapt––testimony to its celerity. The channel had widened some; the current wasn’t as violent here, though it was far from calm. Ahead, a much larger rock than the one she clung to protruded from the water, bisecting the river’s flow––the larger half continued downstream, while the narrower flowed into a deep cove. Directly above, the walls of the gorge curved toward each other to form a narrow viaduct—a natural bridge above the river.

There was no sign of Levi or Rubie. The bond was non-existent––a fact that, should she allow herself to think too hard on it, left her with the mortifying urge to weep, in part because she had absolutely _no idea_ how she was going to find him now. Leaping had been thoughtless––instinctive. Now that she was here, the very real possibility that she _wouldn’t_ find him dogged her mind.

Just as a wild panic started to claw its way up her insides, Mikasa’s ears picked up a sound above the river’s clamor. She pressed herself closer to the rock, trying to listen for anything above the water. It had been faint, but she was certain she’d heard someone yell. She needed to move––staying on the rock was doing her no favors, and she could no longer feel her bottom half in the frigid water. Making for the cove seemed like her best option.

Extricating herself from her current position proved difficult, however. Once again she would need to time it; if she could ride the current to the other rock, she could maneuver from there into the cove, but overshooting it too far to the left and she’d be swept farther downstream.

Another yell.

There was no denying it now: someone was out there. A renewed sense of intention woke within her, propelling her forward and away from the safety of the boulder. It was easier to keep her head above the current this time, now that she was in charge of her course and not leaping from a great height.

This rock was less smooth than the previous and therefore easier to grip on to. Her legs were well and truly numb at this point, and for one fearful moment she worried she wouldn’t be able to keep herself afloat. The water became dramatically shallower as she hauled herself closer to the cove, and she nearly fell over herself when her feet connected with the smaller rocks lining the bed’s floor.

Finding her footing, she pushed away from the boulder, wading toward the cove and away from the main tributary. She stumbled a few more times on the dark, uneven rocks, but the water here was still and shallow and therefore easier to tread.

The river continued its ceaseless bellow behind her; but the cove, with its rocky overhang, cupped and carried sound from its recesses. The yelling was more discernable here—she recognized Rubie’s voice. She was shouting something unintelligible. Talking to someone.

_Levi._

Impelled, Mikasa continued deeper into the cove, the water now at her hips. A craggy slope to the left of the inlet caught her eye—it appeared to be the only point of progress, and judging by the freshly-dampened rocks along its surface, it had been recently utilized.

Rubie’s voice became more distinct as she pulled herself onto the rocky gradient, and she paused to listen for its location. Above. It was coming from above. On all fours, she clambered up the rocks, looking ahead to see how the path curved around and disappeared above the overhang. They were up there. On the viaduct.

“There will be others like me!”

Rubie sounded frantic, angry. Mikasa hurried up the slope, cursing each time her shins scraped against the rock when she slipped.

“They’ll only use you! I can help you to realize your full potential!”

She heard Levi then, the low timbre of his voice making her chest flip. She couldn’t decipher his words, however, and determined he must be facing the opposite way from Rubie. She continued her ascent up the rock, following the slope’s hairpin curve all the way around to where it opened up to a narrow crossing.

The rock bridge she’d viewed from the river now lay before her, and Levi stood at its end; he had his back to her, blocking Rubie, who stood halfway down the bridge. She faltered mid speech, her green eyes going wide as she caught sight of Mikasa. Levi noticed the expression on the redhead’s face, and he sent a brief glance to whatever had captured her attention. Then he looked again.

All the color left his face. He could only stare at her, expression so gut-wrenchingly raw, his eyes widening to an extreme which she’d never seen on him before. In the corner of her eye, Mikasa saw Rubie bend to her boot. She cried out too late, hand coming up in a futile gesture. Rubie freed the knife from its holster and hurled it across the viaduct where it landed in Levi’s side. He gasped in agony, hitching forward at the impact.

“No!” Mikasa nearly stumbled over her own feet in her race across the rock to his side. He stumbled and she caught him by the shoulders, holding him steady. It felt strange, touching him like this without the presence of the bond; almost like its absence focused her sense, heightened it. _Real._

“Mikasa,” he breathed, one hand leaving the blade to clasp at her elbow, leaving a bloody streak across her skin. “How…?”

“I’m here.” Her throat was tight, voice a reedy rasp. She cupped his face, and he let out a shuddering breath, as if her touch were the proof he needed that she was real. _“I’m here.”_

Rubie was retreating farther across the bridge, periodically peering over its side as if gauging the distance to the river; she was trapped between them and the far wall of the gorge. The only way out was down.

Something cold pressed itself against Mikasa’s arm, and she looked down to see Levi offering her the hilt of the knife he’d just pulled from his side. Her eyes flew to his, searching.

“Here,” he grunted, pressing more insistently and jerking his chin toward Rubie. “Make that practice count.”

Taking the blade, Mikasa returned her gaze to Rubie, suddenly incredibly thankful for all those hours she’d spent hurling knives at a target board in the training room.

Rubie leaned over the edge, eyes moving, calculating. Her long hair had come free from its customary braid, hanging wet and tangled across her back and shoulders. She pulled herself straight, a resolute purpose to her movements. She was going to leap. Her gaze returned to the Ackermans for a parting look.

That’s when Mikasa threw the knife.

It landed with a sickening thud just to the left of Rubie’s breastbone. Her eyes bulged, a short huff of air forcing itself from her lungs. Tucking her chin, she looked down to observe the weapon protruding from her person. Then she groaned, the sound one of frustration rather than pain. Her hands lifted, shaking wildly about the hilt but not touching it.

 _“God,”_ she croaked, mouth contorting in sorrow. Tears flooded her eyes, accentuating their color. She lifted those emerald orbs to Mikasa. _“Wait…”_

Blood oozed down the front of her robe, staining the crimson material a deep garnet. She stumbled then, knees buckling, and for a moment it appeared as if she would keel over the side of the bridge; but she remained standing. Mikasa took a step onto the viaduct, some dark desire to watch the woman’s face urging her forward.

Suddenly, there came a terrible rumble from above their heads. Mikasa glanced at the ceiling, and the grumbling cut off abruptly—suspended. She looked back to Rubie, the woman’s face turned upward in horrific awe. The stalactite seemed to fall in slow motion, descending through the air like a great, chthonic blade.

Rubie was on her knees, knife still buried in her chest. _“Mother,”_ she breathed, and Mikasa could only stand in horror as the spike impaled itself through the woman’s shoulders, down the length of her torso.

For a moment, there was a dreadful stillness, as if everything were a mistake. It _felt_ like a mistake. A big, cosmic mistake in the form of a three-meter-long spear. The unexplainable urge to cry stole through Mikasa. She heard Levi’s labored breathing just behind her, his own shock palpable in those quiet exhalations.

Then the ground shifted. Or, rather, the bridge did.

Angry fissures split down the rock, slabs of stone breaking free and plummeting to the river below. The impact from the stalactite seemed to be more than the rock overpass was able to withstand, and it began to crumble at a dangerous rate.

“Mikasa, get back!” Levi barked, his hand grasping her arm and pulling her to him.

For the second time that day, Mikasa was knocked off her feet; the floor disappeared, the feeling of weightlessness making her feel sick in her stomach.

Levi reached for her madly, his face nigh unrecognizable in its alarm. She clawed upwards, fingers seeking and finding purchase on his arm.

And for a moment he had her.

Then they were both falling, tumbling with the rock to land in the river once more. Mikasa writhed, taking in water through her nostrils, gagging as she surfaced only to be dragged under again.

Never had she felt such unbridled panic. Even in her closest calls with Titans, she had never felt this kind of fear, this extent of desperation. Because she just _couldn’t surface._ She’d cheated death many times and now it had come to collect its due.

And it was so dark. Dark and very cold, the water holding her down and twisting her out like a rag. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. It was a very lonely thing, and some vestige of rage stirred in her at the thought. Levi wasn’t here. She had held his hand and then he was gone.

And she wanted to cry. She wanted to weep, but she couldn’t breathe.

 

•••

 

He’d thought her some cruel specter; a fabricated facsimile his mind had crafted to torment him.

The knife in the side had been decidedly real, though. And so were her hands, cold and tender against his face. He’d looked at her and saw reflected in her eyes the same things he had wanted to say but never did. And he thought that, too, was cruel.

The current carried him deeper through the gorge, the sky above disappearing behind rock, leaving only water and darkness. He was disoriented, light-headed––though that was more likely due to blood loss. The wound was deep, but her aim had been shit and the knife had been small. The possibility of him bleeding out in this river was high, however.

Levi’s voice was barely discernible to his own ears above the river, yet he continued to call out for Mikasa. Each time only the roar of the water replied.

The watercourse dipped suddenly, submerging him for a moment. When he broke the surface again, the sky was visible, the light restored to the gully. The river was far more savage at this point in its course; far wider than farther back up the channel. This would be much more difficult, if not impossible, to escape from.

And then he saw her, pale arms reaching, dark head dipping under the water only to emerge once again. Ignoring the pain in his side, he began to broadstroke with the current, pausing every so often to check his position to her.

Kenny’s voice, of all things, entered his mind as he struggled to keep his head above the surface. _Loyalty will make you weak, and weakness will get ya killed, kid._

A bone-deep exhaustion crept over him. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt this physically spent. His vision was blurred, Mikasa’s form no longer visible in the rapids ahead. And he knew it was pointless, but he called out for her.

Her name was stolen midway from his mouth as he suddenly collided into something in the water. Euphoric, he thought it to be Mikasa, but then the thing curled around him.

Levi’s stomach clenched terribly as he was pulled from the river to meet the colossal face of a Titan. “Fuck,” he breathed, more pissed than anything. The strangest urge to laugh overcame him; after it all, of course a fucking Titan should be the thing to kill him. It was too fitting, really.

But it wasn’t eating him. _An abnormal._ It held him in the palm of its hand, regarding him carefully with its amber-colored eyes…

“Dennard,” he croaked, the urge to laugh still there.

The Titan’s yellow gaze shifted, and he craned his neck to see the dark-haired form she held in her other hand. Something shifted within him, burning through the haze of debility from before; no sooner had Dennard lowered her hand to the ground, than he was scrambling across to Mikasa.

Dennard’s Titan had begun to steam, and for once he was grateful for the much needed heat the giant remains could offer. He didn’t wait to see the girl herself emerge, however, focus entirely on Mikasa. He kept a firm hand to his side, hissing in agony as he fell to his knees beside her. He brushed the hair from her face—her jaw felt so small in his hands, her skin too cold. Her pallor was disturbing, too.

“Oi, Mikasa,” he prompted, turning her head to either side. He placed an ear to her nose. Nothing. He checked her pulse––the point at her neck and then with his ear to her chest. Nothing. _“Shit.”_

Thirty compressions to her chest, one hand above the other, droplets of water flinging from his hair as he pressed. He went back to her face, tilting her head, fingers beneath her pale jaw. He pressed his mouth to hers, a grim parody of a kiss, and watched her ribs expand as he breathed for her. Another breath, and then he was back to compressions.

“Come on, brat. Wake the fuck up.”

Twenty nine compressions. Thirty. Back to breathing. She remained unresponsive. Compressions again. Dennard had finally emerged from the steaming remains of her Titan and approached cautiously, the stricken look on her face making his gut seize.

“Oi, Mikasa. C’mon.”

_Twenty nine. Thirty._

“C’mon,” he begged, delivering her a second breath. Still nothing. Back to compressions. “Come back to me. Come back, you stubborn woman.”

_Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen..._

The stab at his side screamed each time he pressed down, but he ignored it. Dennard had taken off running—maybe to find help. He didn’t look up from his task to see.

 _“Please.”_ His vision blurred, and he blinked rapidly to clear it as he bent to breathe for her again. _“Come back to me, Mikasa.”_ He grit his teeth against the pain and started again on the compressions.

_One. Two. Three…_

“Goddammit! _Breathe!”_ His chest stuttered painfully, and he drew in a ragged gasp of air, voice emerging as a whisper, “I need you here, so wake the _fuck_ up.” _Come back to me._

It was when he descended to breathe for her again that she spluttered to life. He reeled back to avoid the gurgle of water escaping her mouth.

Mikasa flipped onto all fours, hacking and wheezing; pulling in great, shuddering breaths. He suddenly had no idea what to do and merely stared dumbstruck as she collapsed onto her back again in an exhausted heap. Her glassy eyes rolled to him, dark lashes fluttering against her pale skin. She mumbled something.

His momentary spell of inaction broke, and Levi went to her, ignoring the protest from his side. He suddenly felt light-headed, lowering himself to his elbows for fear of keeling over on top of her. “What? Say it again.” He hunched over her, his hands framing her face, thumbs tracing feather-light against her cheeks. They’d been like this before, in the training room. He’d wanted to kiss her then. Should have. “What did you say?”

“Efran says,” she croaked, working her mouth a little before starting again. “Efran says you have a good singing voice.” Her eyes fluttered closed, a gentle smile on her face. “Is he right?”

A hoarse laugh bubbled out of Levi’s mouth, the sound morphing into a grunt of pain. _Oh,_ he needed to lie down. He did so, right beside Mikasa, shoulder against hers. “Wouldn’t you like to know, brat.”

Black spots had started to encroach upon the fringe of his vision. His fingers groped his side, coming away slick with lifeblood. He felt as if some tether were being pulled from him through the wound; pulling and pulling and taking with it something precious, vital. Mikasa sighed beside him and he succumbed to the dark.

A voice, one he knew well, was saying his name. He listened carefully, trying to pick out the words through the black. It was calm and warm here in the dark, and some rational part of him knew that wasn’t a good thing.

“You stay alive, you son ‘a bitch.”

Efran.

“We came all this damn way to get you, so don’t fucking go now.”

The ceiling was moving. No, that wasn’t right. His head lolled to the side, vision swimming. A gurney. He was on a gurney. A twinge of annoyance moved through him, and he made to sit up. A hand stopped him, firm on his shoulder.

“Easy, cap. We got ya.” Kirschtein. “You’ve lost some blood, so just hang tight for a bit.”

He drifted in and out, Efran’s constant barrage of threats and demands permeating his subconscious, disrupting his descent back into that dark place. He found it annoying. That was probably the intent.

They passed buildings, each an umber copy of the one before, bland and filthy. Even through his haze he could smell it—the fetor of the Underground’s megalopolis. Time seemed to be turning back on itself; he was leaving the tunnels, departing the Redeemer hive and passing by the city-squalor of his birth, returning to the surface.

A group of civilians clung to the side of a particularly ramshackled establishment, their faces a wash of nebulous features and indiscernible in his state. He looked past them, searching for something but not recalling what.

A woman sat slightly apart from the others, rail-thin and dirty. An infant slept in her arms. Her hair was long and dark, her face partially hidden behind its curtain as she cooed to her child. As if sensing his eyes upon her, she looked up. The dark circles beneath a familiar slate gaze made her appear older than she probably was; but despite the gaunt incurvature of her cheeks, the elasticity of youth remained. She looked tired, but not afraid. She smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I did a lot of research for this scene. Like, _a lot._ For months. If you’re interested/confused, I'll do a lil A/N at the beginning of next chap. I can hear you asking, much like Efran did, “if Dennard saw Rubie shoot Mikasa in her latest vision, why not skip the elaborate plan and just take Rubie out and prevent the whole thing?” Well, because ~~I really wanted to trick you~~ drama. Call me basic, idc. Thoughts? Ily all.


	22. All My Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've barely edited, forgive me. I was a little excited to get this thing out there. And it's, like, an ungodly hour. Bad Mora. Bad...

**** The curtains were drawn, the noonday sun spilling through the window and into the small bed chamber. Outside it had begun to snow. The door stayed open throughout the day, but the nurse was strict about visitors and how many could be in the room at one time. Only one person never left.

Eren had been watching her for almost fifteen minutes now. He was leaning against the doorframe, turning over Armin’s words in his head. She had her back to him, but no doubt she would have picked up on his presence had she been in a more wonted state. As it were, the entirety of her attention remained on the captain. He’d woken briefly yesterday morning, long enough to gripe about the “shitty-ass weather,” but the sedative effects of whatever painkiller Hanji had him on soon put him out again.

Mikasa sat in the chair beside the bed, hands folded in her lap. There was nothing particularly unusual about the scene, the space between her and the captain remained decorous, and yet Eren couldn’t help but feel like he was trespassing on a private moment. That, or he was filling in something Armin had alluded to.  _ They’ve developed a connection. _

He’d been angry. And he’d been angry at himself for  _ being  _ angry, because the nearest outlet for his rage had been Armin, and while some of that anger was—rightfully, perhaps—reserved for his friend, it was unfair that he’d withstood the  _ brunt  _ of it. He’d been angry at Mikasa, too. Was _ still  _ angry. But this was all a mixture of his own shame; that she should think him so weak, so  _ sensitive,  _ and that she’d endanger herself on his behalf. Not a new practice.

_ She was following orders. Mikasa has had to bear an incredible burden, and it wasn’t all for you, believe it or not. _

Armin, for all his diffidence, wouldn’t let Eren walk over the top of him. Even in the heat of the argument, Eren had respected that fact; and once the ire had cooled, once he’d had a few days to at least process the unfathomable, Eren began to entertain different viewpoints. He tried, for once, to place himself in her shoes—in Erwin’s, Armin’s, or even  _ Levi’s— _ and he found he understood their justification.

A war had been raging right beneath his nose; he’d barely had time to register it, to worry about its orbit, when suddenly it was won and the wounded returned. His initial relief had overridden the rage; it seemed like only yesterday that Mikasa had returned from the Underground with barely her life only to turn back around and do it again. And then there was Captain Levi. The man come back from the dead.

Relieved, yes. Still, it felt like his heart had been wrenched from his chest and cut into tiny, bleeding pieces.

There was no body, they said. And if it hadn’t been for her brother, the undeniable blood of Rubie, with all that fiery hair and freckled skin, he would have thought it some continuation of the lie. It was easiest to blame the man, Rikard; to place all his anger upon the brother of the woman he loved, as if he were the embodiment of this new Rubie he’d been informed about.

There was a stain on him he didn’t think he’d be able to wash out now, and it left him feeling  _ used.  _ Deep down, though, if he  _ really faced that darkness,  _ it made sense. She made sense; she’d appeared out of nowhere one day, and he—the desperate fool—had thought it his luck. Lucky indeed.

Mikasa gave a weary sigh, the sound pulling his mind back to the room. She was resting her elbow on the side of the bed now, her hand across her eyes, pale fingers tense. She was crying, he could tell by the swift rise and controlled fall of her shoulders. Eren stepped into the room.

“Mikasa.”

She jerked to standing, the chair squealing back along the wood floor. They both looked at the captain. He remained unconscious.

Mikasa pawed at the tears clinging to her dark lashes. “What are you doing here?” and then, thinking better of her wording, “I mean, I didn’t expect to see you. I…”

The trepidation was evident in her dark eyes. Her brow was scrunched in the middle as she waited for him to speak. He kept his hands in his pockets, his gaze focused on the captain’s blanketed feet. “I should have come to see you sooner. I just needed time to sort through some things.”

“Of course. I understand...I mean…” She twisted the ends of her sleeves, suddenly appearing very unsure and very young. It was not a manner he associated with Mikasa. “You must hate me. So much,” she said in a small voice, eyes welling again. She blinked, lifted her chin.

“Never.” Her eyes returned to him, and a fragment of his shattered heart restored itself. “I was angry...am angry...but not at you. At least, not as much anymore. I think I understand now.” He averted his gaze to the top of the window frame, willing the lump in his throat to go away. “I think it will take me awhile to...overcome this. And perhaps some of it I never will. But I know that I’m not the only one suffering.”

The silence stretched, a strange tension in the room, like something left unsaid. Eren finally took the other chair, the one beside hers, realizing he was probably making her uncomfortable by just looming there.

Mikasa, however, remained standing, looking between her hands, the captain, and then back to her hands. “It’s strange seeing him like this,” she said, voice a breath.

He had to concur. Not only did sleep remove a few years from the captain’s already youthful face, but it also made him appear incredibly  _ vulnerable.  _ Despite the wan pallor of his skin, the gentle rise and fall of his chest that evinced he was very much alive.  _ The man come back from the dead. _ “I owe you both a lot.”

“You owe us nothing, Eren—”

He held up a hand, only mildly annoyed by her unwavering altruism. “I do. And let me. Please.”

He wouldn’t ask her about the bond; something told him it was a delicate topic, but he was also aware the conversation could quickly spiral, and all that feeling he was still wrestling with would undoubtedly funnel through it in the worst way possible. Armin would tell him to start slow, to cover the small things first and save the others for another time, another conversation.

“If…” she began, fingers working furiously at the ends of her sleeves. She took in a silent breath, steeling herself. “If you ever want or need to talk about...anything, I will do that.”

A petty glimmer of irritation sparked through him, and he caught a vision of his younger self replying out of anger.  _ So now you want to talk. _

“Thanks,” he managed to mumble. He caught the subtle way her shoulders sagged and added, “I think we should. One day. I’m sure there are things you want to talk about, too.”

A curious blush spread across her cheeks. “Yeah, there are.”

Eren, for once, didn’t know how to act around her. The divide between them was palpable, hewed by time and events. It felt like waking from a dream, only to find so much had happened while he’d slept.

She was different; her indomitable poise was ever present, even if she currently worried her sweater to a bare thread, but there was a certain stillness about her that spoke of a newfound certitude. Mikasa had never tottered under the awkwardness of juvenescence, but only now could he recognize just how much she’d grown.

They weren’t kids anymore. The thought made his throat tighten, and he had to pull his gaze from her. Looking at the captain was worse—a man whose springtide was, arguably, more barren than his own. The image of broken childhoods come broken soldiers was almost too bleak to bear, and he was quickly losing the battle with his emotions.

“Eren.” She could see his plight, no doubt, and the gentle breath of his name only made his eyes swim.

“Why must you always be so strong?”

Not a real question—he knew  _ why.  _ He didn’t need to elaborate either, because she knew too; he wasn’t questioning her, rather, railing against what was fair and what was right. And she knew what he meant. Because she was smart. She was so smart, and fearless and brave, and it wasn’t fair that she should have to carry it all.

“Eren.” Her hand was warm upon his shoulder. “So are you.”

A bitter laugh. “Not like you. Not like Heichou.”

She carded her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “And I’m not strong like you.” She took his face in her hands, and when he looked up he could see she was crying too. “But that’s why I need you.”

“I almost lost you,” he breathed, a hot tear slipping down his cheek. He let her see the anger then, the kind he’d reserved for her death, the kind he’d held for himself for being blind. “I almost lost everything.”

Mikasa choked out a sob, her dark eyes large with tears. “I tried to keep you safe. I only wanted you to be safe, but I hurt you all the same, and I’m sorry.” Her pale chin trembled, and they were both nine years old again. “I would do anything for you, for Armin. And I’m sorry I didn’t do enough. I’m sorry, Eren—“

The chair nearly tumbled as he shot to standing and pulled her into his arms. She cried against his chest, hands fisting into his shirt as her slim frame shook with emotion. He held her firm, would have pulled her into him if he could have. He let his own tears fall upon her dark head.

“I’m sorry, Eren. I’m so sorry,” she chanted into his collar, voice breathless and muffled.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you now.” He pressed his nose into her hair, cooing softly and crying with her. “I’ve got you.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was rich to see Rikard Flanagan in cuffs, tucked away in a spartan cell. No less than he deserved.

At least, that's what she told herself.

Perhaps the events of the past few months had weakened her resolve—because she sure as hell didn't  _ owe  _ him anything, and they certainly weren't even—but the red-haired man looked utterly  _ pitiful. _

"Figured it'd be you," he croaked, voice dry from disuse.

"Did you, now?"

His green eyes caught the light, teeth glinting in the shadows as he cast her a fiendish grin. "Aye. Levi and I already had our talk. In the Underground. If he ever did decide to pay me a visit now it would be to put a blade through my eye."

"How do you know that's not why I'm here?"

A chuckle. "Don't get me wrong, you terrify me a lot more than he does. How is the  _ Black Dog,  _ anyway?"

The thought of  _ him _ sent a pang of mixed emotions through her chest, the foremost being guilt; she hadn’t seen him for nearly a week. What was more, he’d been conscious for a better part of that time.

Then again, it seemed that everyone and their dog wanted to catechize her about the events of the past few months, so her time wasn’t really her own anymore—she’d spent countless hours with Hanji and Erwin in the latter’s office prepping for said interrogations. Somehow, she never ran into Levi during those meetings.

“He’s fine.”

Chains clattered as Rikard rose to standing and shuffled toward the bars. "But you got some things you want to say, don't you. Woe betide the man who doesn't listen to Mikasa Ackerman when she speaks, and I mean that with the utmost respect." He grasped the bars, wiping his chin against his shoulder, brow furrowing. "One thing my sister never understood. She commanded respect with the business end of a blade. You...you just command it."

"I didn't come here to get my ass kissed."

Another chuckle, this one a little more genuine. "No, I don't suppose you did. Doesn't mean I don't mean it. So what do you have to say, she-wolf?"

Mikasa, sent a glance down the hall from whence she'd come, looking for the guard. He was away, just as she'd requested. Emboldened, she stepped up to the bars to better see the Redeemer's face. He could reach out and grab her from here if he so wished. "To ask you a question."

Green eyes narrowed. He was listening.

"Why did you do it?"

Silence lingered. Rikard dragged his jaw against his shoulder once more, scratching at the red stubble coming in. "I don't rightly know."

"Bullshit."

“I did a few things. Gonna need to be specific.”

“How about you explain them all?”

It was he who glanced down the hall this time—to the best that he was able, given the bars. "How long do I have?"

She shrugged. "Trial's at three. But they'll probably come get you before that."

"What time is it now?"

"Nearly two, I believe."

Rikard nodded, a brief expression of pain flitting across his face. "I wasn't under the illusion that I could somehow atone for what I've done," he began, brow drawn. "Maybe you could call it selfish on my part, helping the two of you. Helping the kid. Because it  _ did  _ make me feel better, like I wasn't playing every bad card." He pushed away from the door, keeping his back to her as he churned his thoughts, hands flexing and unflexing. "When we were kids, me and Rube, it was only us. I'll spare you the couple of orphans in the Underground sob tale, but that's how it was. It was my job as the big brother to keep us alive. To keep  _ her  _ alive.”

In the dark, the shadowed outline of his shoulders sagged. For a moment she thought he might be crying, but then he straightened again and turned to face her. His face was composed.

“You and I have something in common. We both love very deeply. Once we commit ourselves to it, you’ll need to put us down to get us to let go.” He approached the bars again but kept a respectable space from her. “I should have killed my sister a long time ago."

The memory of the Red Woman’s grim demise was a perdurable stain on her mind, and a familiar roil in her gut surfaced. “Don’t fool yourself, Rikard. It won’t do you any good now.” The words were blunt, but spoken gently—the closest to comfort she would come.

“How did she die?”

The question, so abrupt, conjured another flash of his sister’s death. Time had not served to palliate the trauma of the incident, and she saw the cruel and fortuitous spear just as bloody in her dreams—it seemed that sleep only augmented the scene’s morbidity.

Something bleak passed across the the red-haired man's face. "Perhaps I don't want to know, then. Which one of you did it?"

"Neither of us. It was...it was unexpected."

He chuffed a laugh, brows drawing together in a brief expression of agony before smoothing again. It was only then that she noticed the fading bruise blooming down the side of his cheek. He rubbed at it with his shoulder again, noticing her gaze. "Save the pity. Your MP pals enjoy a little blood in their debriefing."

"I don't pity you."

"Do you hate me?"

The short answer was  _ yes,  _ but there was more to it than that. She hated the idea of him, mostly. “Something tells me your mind torments you enough.”

He sneered, fingers curling around the iron. “How generous of you. Should I thank you for your clemency? Or is the thought of my suffering balm enough for yours?”

Whatever concord they'd maintained up until that point had evaporated, and Mikasa had no intention of reclaiming it. "Children!" she raged. "You know, if I stretch, I can bring myself to understand your sister's fucked up fantasy, why she sought out the surviving members of the Ackerman clan. I understand your hate for those with power who abuse it." She took in a breath, angered by the sudden tears threatening to choke her. "But children." Rikard had his head bowed, lank, red strands falling across his brow. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and that angered her too. "The irony of seeing you in a box isn't lost on me." She bent, finding his face through the shroud of his hair. "But I didn't come here to gloat, and I sure as shit don't derive succor from your  _ suffering." _

"Why are you here, then?" He spoke in a whisper, the choler from before having left him. "An apology would be fruitless, let alone insulting."

Yes, it would, and that he hadn't offered her such was one thing she could commend him for. "None of us are innocent, Rikard. Maybe that's why I can't understand what you did." He looked up at her, eyes red. "Especially you. It doesn't fit. I don't understand how the man who helped us could hurt those children."

There was regret in his gaze, shame too, though she'd noticed both before; and she realized she’d lied, that she did pity him. Part of her wanted to say so, to attack his already decimated pride.

“We’re all monsters, Mikasa.”

The clang of a door unbolting echoed down the hall. Rikard’s head snapped to attention, and the look on his face made her gut seize in vicarious anticipation.

“There will be others.” He spoke in a whisper now, something desperate in his tone. “Those loyal to my sister who would seek to pick up from where she left off, and those completely unrelated to her cause, with intentions all their own.” He pressed his pale face into the unforgiving cradle of the bars, eyes large and viridian. “But they all want the same thing, she-wolf. They all want a piece of that power you and your captain carry.”

Something in the way he spoke, the perturbation in his gaze, sent a very cold, and very keen sense of apprehension down Mikasa’s spine. 

“It’s not safe to bear the name of Ackerman.”

“Is that a threat?” 

“No. That’s a warning.” He glanced down the hall, where the sound of multiple footsteps ricocheted across the stone. Back to her. “You’re smart enough to heed it.”

“Who are these people?” She kept her face near his to better whisper her words, ignoring the stale smell of his breath. “Do you know any of them?”

He shook his head. “I have no reason to lie to you. Wouldn’t do me any good at this point, anyway.” A bitter smirk curled his mouth. “We both know the outcome of this trial.”

Yes, she did. Better than he, in fact. And they were both out of time.

Erwin Smith rounded the corner first, followed by Nile Dok and three more MPs. Mikasa had had the foresight to put a few feet between herself and the cell.

“Lieutenant,” was all Erwin said. An order laced into a greeting. Polite, but resolute.  _ Time’s up. _

She saluted. “Commander Smith. Commander Dok.”

Erwin nodded once, another command disguised as acknowledgement. She took her leave, feeling the weight of Rikard’s gaze upon her back as she went.

 

* * *

 

 

It had stopped snowing.

The window was frosted, minute crystal designs lining the panes in hoary little halos, making it difficult to view the white landscape beyond. She was close enough to the glass that her breath thawed the rime, and she watched with unfocused eyes as the winter scene blurred and melted.

Voices drifted down the hall—soldiers and civilians alike making their way to the courtroom for the impending trial. Everyone wanted to see the Redeemer meet his judgement.

For a moment, it was eerily still in the large hallway, and Mikasa was alone. It was the first bit of quietude she’d had in...a while.

Then came the muted press of approaching boots upon the flags.

It said something that she could recognize who it was by the footsteps alone, that she knew it was he by the steady heel-toe, the even gait. She envisioned his stride, how he always moved with purpose and never lumbered. It must also say something that she could tell his mood by his approach—could tell he was wary, reticent. Still, there would be no indication of this; he’d be the picture of equanimity.

It said a lot that she could discern all this just by the sound of his damn boots.

Mikasa’s gut seized at the prospect of talking to him, of facing him, but she tapped down the girlish urge to flee.

His pace slowed, until he stopped a few feet behind her. 

Best to launch straight in, no beating around the bush. “I should have come to see you when you were out. I’m sorry.” No chance for any awkwardness to brew, right to the point.

“I don’t expect you to play nursemaid, brat.”

He couldn’t see her smirk, and she knew him well enough at this point not to rankle at his coarse tongue; yet she could tell by his subsequent sigh that he regretted his choice of words. She’d let him have that.

He spoke again, voice deliberate, softer. “I know you’ve been busy. I have too. I think it would have been difficult to meet even with a concerted effort.” He shifted, moving closer to her. Goosebumps spread along her right arm as he came to stand cater-corner to her elbow, leaving only a few inches between them.

“I spoke to Rikard.”

“I heard. How did that go?”

The unspoken  _ why  _ clung to his words. Erwin hadn’t scrupled much when she’d first requested to see the Redeemer, but he’d made it clear in so many words that there were things she should and should not say; he’d let her have her visit, but she would keep her ear alert for anything of value said.

Not that she’d been expecting a particular outcome, but the man’s parting words left her further perturbed than before.

“In short, I foresee a few meetings between us and Erwin. Possibly Hanji, too.” The hallway remained blessedly silent, but she didn’t know how long it would stay like that. This wasn’t the place to talk.

Levi carded his fingers through his hair, sighing through his nose. “Not out of the woods yet, then.”

Silence again, and she was once more left without something to say. She peered down at his shoes, the military-issue leather boots that he kept immaculately polished. 

“How are you feeling?” The softened timbre of his voice made her chest clench. It was a tone he rarely used, and yet one she’d grown accustomed to.

“I’m alright.” A labored lie, and he, no doubt, saw straight through it. He kept silent, however, which was a rebuttal all its own. “Nightmares, mainly.”

He made a short hum in the back of his throat. “I know what you mean.”

She knew it was odd— _ obvious,  _ really—how she refused to look at him even as he addressed her, and the absent way she traced her finger along the damp windowpane wasn’t fooling anyone. “How about you?”  _ Weak.  _ That was weak. He’d nearly  _ died.  _ They’d both nearly died.

“Better.” He sounded resolved enough, and she relaxed a little. “A few new scars, but that’s neither here nor there.”

He would see her smile this time, and she almost,  _ almost  _ achieved the courage enough to turn her face to him. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she parrotted.

His eyes burned into the side of her neck. She wanted to run away. She wanted to throw her arms around him. She wished he would _stop_ _scrutinizing her._

“You jumped.” He didn’t need to elaborate. “Why?”

Leaping into the river had been instinctual. Impulsive. She turned her head to him but kept her eyes averted—if she looked at him now, there was no telling what would break inside her. She was balancing on the edge of some foreign precipice, and it was both thrilling and terrifying. “You know why.”

She was aware of his breathing, could sense the controlled rise and fall of his chest, and even without a bond the tension radiating off of him was palpable.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

The words stole her breath. She scrambled for a reply, for something that wouldn’t sound hollow or contrived.  _ I missed you too. I thought you were dead. I can’t stop thinking about you… _

“Mikasa.” Her name was a rumble in his chest, barely uttered. “Can I touch you?” His hand was moving in her periphery, flexing but not reaching. Waiting.

Something stirred inside her, and she finally let her eyes drift to his. It was like she was seeing him for the first time, and like he’d been there all along, and  _ yes  _ she did know why.

His hand lifted to the side of her neck, just below her jaw. His touch was gentle—cautious, as if he were handling a frightened horse. She let herself be pulled into him, all the tension leaving her as she tucked her nose against the crook of his shoulder.

The bond was gone, but something hummed between them, something intrinsic and unspoken, and soon she was clutching at his jacket, inhaling his clean scent with a shaky breath.  _ “Levi.” _

“I saw you die.” His words were steady, voice betraying nothing, but his hands gave him away—firm against her, like she might drift away if he so much as lessened his hold. “And then you were just there. Like a fucking ghost.”

The memory of his face that day as he’d turned to her was just as haunting as the image of Rubie’s death. And then there was the sound of the blade as it cut through the air, of its dull impact with his body…

He’d gotten lucky, according to Hanji, and Mikasa had to agree. Though, she supposed the luck lay in Rubie’s inaccuracy with throwing knives. She pulled back to see his face. They remained in silence, speechless, seeking the other’s gaze for some kind of answer, for meaning.

He spoke first, voice a breath. “I don’t know what to say to you sometimes.”

She hid her face against his shoulder, smiling at his candor. “You don’t need to say anything.”

Again his fingers clutched at her, restless against her. “I think that I’m…” He paused and swallowed thickly. She pulled back to look at him, watching something profound pass across his features. For a moment she wondered if he was about to be sick.

“What?” 

“Never mind,” he mumbled, barest hint of a smile on his face. He looked to the window. “Almost said something foolish.”

The door at the end of the corridor gave a screech, and they stepped away from the other with startling synchronicity; the windowpane received her mindless fingers again, and he turned to the view as if it actually held something for him.

Hanji’s deep voice came down the hall, tone somber. “Oi, Levi.”

He turned at his name. “Time yet?”

The scientist nodded in answer, giving Mikasa a subtle smile. “Let’s go before they close the doors on us.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rikard was well aware he was currently gaping like a fish. To say he was stunned would have been an understatement.

Darius Zackley’s voice faded into an unintelligible murmur in the back of his mind, the rapid strike of his gavel sounding like it came from miles away.

The inquest lasted just short of an hour, its brevity of no consequence to him; not like there was really much to  _ inquire  _ into, anyway. He was confused why they didn’t just take him out back and shoot him in the head.

“Rikard Flanagan, you are found guilty on all accounts.”

It was in the remaining five minutes of the trial, however, that things deviated from the libretto in his mind. At some point, his eyes found the onyx stare of Mikasa Ackerman amongst the assemblage. Her stoicism was expected, but the way she remained so unmoved through his adjudication was a feat even for her.  _ She knew. _

“You are hereby sentenced to  _ life imprisonment.” _

No noose. No bullet to the head. No death sentence. The court was pandemonium, voices clamoring to express their confusion and rancor. They wanted his head, they questioned the trial and Zackley himself, and not even the bang of the gavel could call order.

Rikard searched the sea of impassioned faces before returning to the she-wolf. She was a boulder in a raging stream, the eye of a storm. He regained control of his own features.

So they would keep him in their basement, locked away until they needed him. Zackley called him “useful,” but that was only a pale truth and served as a cover story more than anything. People would buy the macabre justice of him serving as the government's plaything, a toy for Hanji Zoe’s experiments and his rightful punishment for sins committed. But he knew better.

No, he had a feeling that if his  _ services  _ were to ever be called into play, it would have more to do with his knowledge. Still, though he loathed the prospect, wasting away in a cell was an ironic comeuppance. No death today, then.

His sister may have been the sore loser, but Rikard had never felt so defeated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. Long time no see. Man, even my friends were getting worried, both irl and virtual (looking at my gurl Madam, ily bb, thanks for checkin on me.) Just work stuff, sorry for the delay. I’m not dead. I also have this bitch in my head, her name is meta!Mora, and she derails me and plants insidious seeds of doubt about stupid, stupid factoid shit that suddenly seems desperately relevant to the plot. Just gotta write the gddddmmnn thing, and stop wringing my hands. Oh, and work. Work is a biotcch.  
> Anywho, this thing is almost over, and I’m kinda in mourning? You have all been so amazing and, as always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this (very late, the tardiest yet) chapter.
> 
> Oh, and smut to come...


	23. The Song Remains The Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my only excuse for such an epic hiatus was that I moved to Canada. I’m serious. Anyway, sorry bout that. Also I lied about this being the final update. Go out with a bang, right? And I kinda liked doing those double updates.

“Levi."

"Hm."

Erwin's fingers drummed upon the desk, impatient. His hawk-eyed gaze narrowed in observation. "I would appreciate your voice on this matter."

It had been a mistake to sit in one of the provided armchairs—the stuffy temperature at which Erwin insisted upon keeping his workplace, coupled with the cushioned seat, only seemed to magnify the intense exhaustion that had been dogging him for the past several days. It was only recently that he’d left the hospital bed. His side still hurt.

But he _had,_ in fact, been listening. "All I know is that one minute the bond was there and then it just wasn't."

"And this was after you went over the edge with Rubie?" Hanji clarified, eyes large behind her glasses. There were spots on the lenses.

"Something like that." Levi looked away. The sun was setting beyond the window, reflecting pink and yellow off the fallen snow. "I thought she was dead. Far as I knew that's what severed the connection."

Hanji's chin dipped, mouth setting into a grim line. Then she rose from her chair, her thoughts forcing her to pace. "You know, that reasoning may not be so far off. As morbid as it sounds, it's a very plausible—"

"Hanji." A note of impatience clung to Erwin's voice. _Elaborate._

"Think about it. The circumstances under which this bond was forged and broken are both very similar." She held up both hands. "First, we have the cave. Both you and Mikasa have described feeling a resurgence of a familiar _power_ that day _._ In a moment, something clicked in both your minds, " she brought her hands together, "and the connection was formed. If this is what formed the connection, this power, it could be what severed it, too."

Erwin's thick brows drew together, fingers rapping upon his desk. "It may not be scientific, but I suppose it makes sense." He blew air from his nose, a humorless chortle. "That being said, no one will buy it."

Not even Erwin Smith could spin this into something for those government pigs to swallow. Dark as it was, Levi found bleak humor in envisioning that particular confab.

"I’d imagine, if word about my bond with Mikasa got out, it would be a reprisal of what happened with Eren."

"These are superstitious people," Erwin said, blue eyes flicking to the door as if the entirety of wall Sina had their ears pressed to it. “Needless to say, this will stay between the few who already know about it. As the story goes, Hanji Zoe lead a group of elite soldiers in the rescue of Captain Levi,” he recited, turning to address the scientist. “You, aided by Lieutenant Ackerman, effectively carried out a well-planned mission to bring down a corrupt group of individuals known as the Redeemers.”

“So I’m the hero in all this?” Hanji snorted, her tone dry and void of mirth. She removed her spectacles to clean them with the edge of her blouse. Levi cringed as the lenses smeared.

“Run with it, Hanji,” Erwin said. “This is bigger than we’d imagined. The Redeemers, the bond. It was just the surface. When Mikasa visited Rikard, my suspicions were confirmed. Rikard and his sister aren’t the only ones interested in the Ackerman clan."

Levi held his hand out for Hanji's glasses, fingers flicking expectantly. "So what now? Do we just continue along like nothing's really happened?" He fogged the lenses up with his breath and polished them clean before returning them to their owner.

"In short, yes. Not only is it the smartest move but it's the safest, too. Especially for you and Mikasa."

Hanji fitted her specs back onto her face, catching Erwin's gaze over their bridge. "Speaking of Mikasa. Don't suppose you've spoken to her as of late?" She was regarding the commander but addressing Levi. Suspicion passed over him.

"Haven't really had the chance." He kept his tone blithe. No reply came. Against his better judgement he prompted, "why?"

Hanji shrugged, looking away from Erwin purposefully. "Seems like you have a few things to talk about."

"Like I said. Been a bit busy. Maybe if you scheduled our meetings _together_ we could _all_ have a chat."

"I think," Erwin interjected, smoothing the middle of his brow with a thumb, "what Hanji is trying to say is that the events of the past few months have been nothing short of gruelling. No one understands that more than the two of you."

This was starting to get uncomfortable. He felt like he was being cornered or, worse, sat down by a pair of progenitors for a reprimand. He kept his face impassive. The annoyance he felt wasn't faked, and he tapped into that.

"Cold comfort though it may be," added Hanji, "you two are strong enough to weather all this. That being said, you're only human. I’m sure you’re feeling stretched thin. Talking to each other would provide some...catharsis, it seems."

Dear _God_ what were they hinting at? Had they spoken to Mikasa? Did they _know?_

"I'd imagine the two of you have grown closer,” she continued. “It couldn't have been easy having someone up in your head all the time—"

"Alright, _enough."_ Uncomfortable with his seated position in the conversation, Levi stood. He wasn't going to continue the vague-game. "Yes, it was fucking bizarre being trapped in a headspace with the brat for a prolonged period of time, but neither of us did anything untoward, if that's what you're getting at. We’re soldiers first." Yes, he would lie, even if he had to justify it in his head as only a half-truth; they'd crossed a professional boundary, but both parties had done so willingly. "What are you alluding to?"

Erwin was already holding up his hand. "We're making no implications, Levi.” Once more, his blue eyes flicked to Hanji, a reprimand in their depths. “The point is this. Miss Ackerman and you have always been invaluable in this fight for humanity. The last few months illustrated what it could look like if we lost one or both of you. Morale aside, Levi, we felt the loss of your presence.”

“Not just as a soldier,” Hanji added quickly.

Several beats passed in silence, punctuated by the periodic crackle from the hearth. Levi really was too drained to piece through the nuances of this interaction. That, or perhaps he really had left his sanity down in that fucking cell. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I still don't follow where you're taking this."

Erwin's reply was swift and succinct, simultaneously ending the meandering topic and stealing the air from the room. "look after each other."

He wanted to ask for clarification, for the sentence to be repeated. Sitting back down suddenly seemed like a tempting option. Even Hanji looked mildly taken aback by the commander’s frank words.

“As I said, this is bigger than we’d previously imagined,” Erwin continued, a sudden enervation presenting itself in the fine lines around his eyes, making him appear older than his years. “Just...do what you must to keep each other alive.”

There was an underlying message to Erwin's words that was both carefully concealed and starkly apparent, and Levi wished he could drum up an appropriate response. There really wasn’t one, though. Not unless he wanted to call out the subtext. A thank you felt incongruous. “Alright, then,” he began, to soften the following, “are we done here?”

“Yes, we’re done,” Erwin replied, and Levi couldn’t tell if he sounded relieved or amused.

Guilt seized him in the hall—perhaps he could have done with being a bit more courteous toward Erwin. And with Hanji, for that matter. The curt nature of their conversations had lost their edge over the years and had become more a natural component to their interactions; still, both soldiers had risked a lot, least of all their positions, to see Levi’s safe return to the surface, and he thought that warranted a little divergence from the norm.

“Levi?” He’d drifted again. He paused mid stride, eyes landing on a familiar figure coming down the hall.

“Efran."

The tattooed man fell into stride next to him, hands buried in the deep pockets of his overcoat. “Headed somewhere?”

"Dinner." More out of habit than necessity. He wasn’t hungry.

“Ah.” Their boots fell in and out of sync, and Levi was well aware that his companion had shortened his stride for his sake. “Meeting go well?”

“Well enough.” He wasn’t being evasive, but he was tired. Efran was shrewd enough to know when to let a subject lie. “How’s the kid doing?”

A rare smile graced the tattooed man’s face at the mention of the Titan girl. “She's resilient, that one. Still having those nightmares. Misses her dad.”

Levi nodded, grim. The girl had seen and lost more than was fair for anyone, let alone a child. While no one had assigned Efran role of caretaker to Dennard, it quickly became clear that the girl had taken a shine to him. He was no replacement for the parent she'd lost—and the late innkeeper couldn't have been more different—but perhaps in his brooding countenance she'd found a sort of protector. "She feels safe with you." If the look that crossed Efran's face was anything to go by, the man took the statement as a high compliment.

"I hope so." Efran slowed his stride, eventually pausing before one of the tall, arched windows lining the corridor. "Might sound strange, but I feel as if I'm undertaking something both delicate and vital." He looked at Levi, his bearded face awash in the pastel hues of the sunset. "Probably because I am."

"Do you feel burdened?"

Efran shook his head, adamant. "No. More...determined. To get it right."

It was then that it all seemed to hit Levi—a delayed reckoning there in the fading light, weighted by the ever present pain of those he'd lost. And those he could still lose. Levi gritted back the sudden swell of embarrassing emotion and straightened his shoulders. "You're a good man, Efran. I owe you much."

In his periphery, Efran's head snapped to him. "Can't think of anything I've done that warrants such a statement." The smile was audible in his voice. "You might be the goddamned _hope of humanity,_ but to me you'll always be that scrappy kid I met in that hellhole all those years ago." He tapped his foot against the flags, as if they were stood right above the very place. "We're all dealt our lot, aren't we? You Ackermans have yours, but by God you two live up to your name, and that's not me blowing smoke up your ass." Efran's heavy hand rested upon his shoulder. "I don't keep a tally of favors, and I know you don't either. That's not how it works. And if ever there comes a time when the two of you require me you'll let me know." 

Not a demand, but not a request either. Levi nodded.

The sun flared red and dim on the horizon, a boiling beacon in the distance. The show was over, the moment gone. Efran sighed and turned from the window. “Well, seems a bit odd that you’d go clear to the mess hall for dinner. You never struck me as the sociable type."

"I'm not the sociable type."

The fading light glinted off Efran’s teeth as he grinned. "Maybe you should stay in, then." The prickle of suspicion from before was back. "You wouldn't be the only one." The tattooed man gave one last glance out the window before resuming his trek down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"Dinner." He was smiling again. Without breaking stride, he turned over his shoulder and chuckled, "goodnight, Levi."

Levi stood there, watching the man leave, and even after he’d rounded the corner and his footsteps had faded Levi remained standing there. The sky had gone from fire to a deep violet, the fading light casting tall shadows along the walls of the corridor. Levi’s boots rang along the flags, a sense of compelling familiarity tailing him. He recalled walking to Erwin’s office that day, the day this whole mess had started. Even then, there had been a connection when he’d entered the room, when he’d seen _her._ Not attraction—not immediately, maybe—but some long-held understanding of her presence that leapt to the surface as soon as he’d seen the back of her ebony hair.

Oh, how she'd _detested_ him. And he her, for that matter. Levi could have laughed at it all now, and even still he found himself grinning as he made his way to her. She'd called him a coward once, straight to his face, and now more than ever that title suited him. He'd been hiding from her, from this thing between them. Afraid of losing it, all the while pushing it away. He'd almost lost her…

And just like that, he was at her door.

It was dark now. Silent. That was something Levi hadn’t accounted for—the quiet. When he’d initially imagined what it would feel like to finally have his mind to himself again, to be free of Mikasa's presence, he’d anticipated a relief of sorts. An unburdening effect. Solitude was a coveted pastime of his, and even now he could appreciate the luxury of being left alone with his thoughts, but the inherent _loneliness_ was a component he’d never registered before. There was a ringing in his ears signaling the absence of something, a cruel tinnitus that drove him to seek a familiar din to fill the vacant space.

_That's why you're here, isn't it?_

Five minutes had gone by—he was close enough to the door to hear the faint tick of the clock on the wall, to count the seconds.

_Coward._

He could not, however, hear her, and if it hadn't been for the faint light leeching underneath the door he would have thought her absent.

_Just knock already._

Once again his hand lifted, fist forming, only to whip back against his side. Should some sleepless soul decide to wander the darkened halls at this time, they'd surely think him a sight. The thought of potentially getting caught after hours outside a subordinate's bedroom without a well-thought excuse was what finally spurred Levi to action. He knocked twice, tentative, and then followed with a more confident triplet.

And then he waited.

Silence seemed to stretch for eternity. The high beams of the barracks creaked their age, mocking his restive form in the darkness below. In the room beyond, he could hear no further disturbance aside from the hateful pulse of the clock.

She was out, then, and the light had been left on. Efran had been wrong. He'd come back another time. Or not at all. This was emotionally-driven, anyway, not at all planned. He blamed Efran, annoyed that he'd been so easily coerced by something that hadn't been explicitly stated. Perhaps it was for the best that she wasn't—

Levi startled back as the latch rattled to life and the door creaked open. If Mikasa looked surprised to see him, she did a good job of concealing it; though she did appraise him for a moment before murmuring a soft, "hello."

He stood, dumb, before recovering his faculties and responding with a weak, "I thought you were out."

The door opened a few inches more, revealing Mikasa in her entirety—she was in her nightclothes—the faint candlelight in the background catching the tips of her newly-shorn hair. It was the shortest he'd seen it, the ends wispy around her ears and jaw, but the messy cut suited her finer strands. It was a good cut for her, made her appear slightly older. Levi refused to let his eyes linger on the thin material of her shirt.

"I thought it might be you," she stated, letting the door fall open the rest of the way before turning on her heel.

Again his tongue seemed to fail him. She had returned well into the shadows of her room before he finally managed a rudimentary attempt at speech. "You cut your hair."

"Maybe." In the dark, he caught the gleam of an onyx eye. Then she said, "you certainly took your time."

 _Had she been waiting?_ He tried not to rush his entry into the room, forcing himself to close the door with deliberate care. "Might have gotten waylaid."

Within the room, the door closed behind him, the silence was very different. Mikasa fidgeted with her hair, the hem of her shorts, suddenly unsure of herself. She was striking before the window, the moonlight reflecting off her pale skin, making it glow, and Levi was momentarily caught on her image.

"You're staring."

"I am."

Maybe it was cruel to enjoy seeing her flustered, to revel in being one of the only few who could; but the lane went both ways, and he was torn between looking away from her and closing the distance between them. He chose the former. “I don’t know when it happened,” he began, eyes scouring the ground between them as if the answers he sought were written on the floorboards, “but at some point I stopped wanting you out of my head and became used to your existence there.” His eyes drifted up to hers. “And now I miss you terribly.” This was it. _This_ was what he'd come here for. 

Mikasa's breath visibly caught, dark eyes widening at his confession. Then she looked away, a dusky blush coloring her cheeks. “I should have come to see you,” she whispered, and he could hear the gentle waver there. Her youth came through then, and her inexperience. He had nothing above her on that regard. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, chancing a step toward her. "Why didn’t…?” He was unsure of how to phrase the question, though he suspected the answer—some version of his own.

She understood him well enough. She inhaled, girded herself. “I was afraid.”

A beat. “Of me?”

Her head lifted, mouth parting on a silent note. “No.” The reply was immediate, and he’d have been lying if he'd said it didn’t make him feel reassured. She looked away from him, incertitude clouding her features once more. “I’m afraid of us, maybe.”

“Of what we’re capable of?” He wanted to touch her, hold to her in some way. He was close enough now to clutch her elbow. She let him.

“Not that.” Her eyes drifted but didn’t rise to him. “I’ve never…” She leaned into his hand which now cradled her jaw. “I’ve never felt something like this.” Her voice was a breath.

The flesh on the underside of her chin was smooth and supple, and he traced there with his thumb. “I beg to differ.” No bitterness, just a statement.

“Eren?” Confusion, briefly, but then she angled her face, a quiet persistence tempering her features—resolve, not at all the perfervid mein of callow youth, and this too made him feel reassured. She shook her head against his hand, a short, gentle little shake. “No. That was different. Real, but different.”

“You’re afraid of the unknown, then?”

A nod. “Aren’t you?”

Levi returned the nod, nose sliding along the slope of her cheekbone to greet her temple, where her scent was strongest. She pressed against him, fingers gripping at his shoulders, but even still he could feel her tension. "Do you miss it? The bond?" His hand skirted around her waist, dipping beneath her shirt to feel the smooth skin of her lower back.

"Yes and no." She sighed and relaxed into him, fingers moving from his shoulders to splay across his chest. He wanted her hands in his hair, to feel the blunt drag of her nails on his scalp again. "Do you?"

"I like this better."

Mikasa shuddered, molding to him. “What is this?” she breathed, pulling him ever closer.

“Does it need a name?” _God_ he wanted to kiss her.

She croaked something against his neck, an incoherent hum in her throat. She was alight in his arms, practically trembling with pent up fear. This was the piece of her psyche she kept hidden from _everyone._ Another croak, this one with intelligible words behind it, a broken, “I can’t lose you.”

 _I can’t._ Not, _I don’t want to,_ or even the hypothetical _what if?_ And it was like she’d spread out his soul and read its contents, announced his shared terror. They held to each other, and even in the throes of his torment he could acknowledge the ridiculousness of himself and maybe even her—the strongest, tethered together by their fear of losing the other.

He was breathing her in, smoothing the entire planar of her back, feeling each note along her spine. She quivered and sighed in his arms, her fingers in his hair now, hips fused to his, and he realized he was mouthing her name against her clavicle. He pulled away to look at her face. "Sometimes I want you back in my head." His lips found her jaw again, hovering but not tasting. "I think you made more sense of the things there than I did."

The jagged hybrid of a laugh and a cry left her. She tilted her head back to feel his mouth against her neck. “You’ve seen me now,” she said, and there was something like relief in her voice. “I think you’ve really seen me.”

The kiss was almost savage in its inception, but neither had been unprepared, and very quickly they found their rhythm. She kissed like she fought, volatile and agile all at once, adapting to him yet testing. She fucked like that too, and the thought made him groan against her mouth. She was so responsive, so tuned in to where he was and how she could affect him—he bit, she opened, she sucked, he sighed, and when he reached for the supple flesh of her backside, she pressed into him without a trace of inhibition.

Breathless sounds left her as his mouth busied itself with the delicate skin of her clavicle. Her nails dragged through his hair, and his hips jutted forward against hers despite himself. He very nearly groaned when she hooked her calf around the back of his own, opening her legs more to better feel him.

She was writhing against him now, a prurient host in his arms, and the soft contact of her pert, little breasts against his chest sent jolts of electricity straight to his groin. She was saying something, gasping it into his collar.

“What?” He leaned back to look at her, his voice more breathless than he’d intended.

“Please, I…” She was clutching at the front of his shirt, tugging on the fabric. “Please stay with me.”

Whether she meant tonight or always didn’t matter, his answer would still be the same. He nodded, aiding her in the removal of his shirt before attending to hers. Her face was momentarily covered as she lifted the garment over her head, and he dove for her exposed breasts. She cried out and clutched at his hair again, letting him press her against the wall.

Her skin was so soft, and he was suddenly aware of just how rough his hands were. And yet, for all the smooth softness of her flesh, the power in her muscles was readily apparent. Not for the first time, the memory of a certain bar fight crossed his mind.

He took his time maneuvering from one breast to the other before making his way down to the soft skin beneath each. When he reached the firm expanse of her belly, she tensed.

“What are you doing?” The insecurity bled into her voice as he lowered himself to his knees. Her dark eyes were doe-wide, short hair falling about her face as she tilted her head to look down at him.

“What does it look like?” Throwing her own words back at her was almost as satisfying as the little sigh she made when his hands slid up the creamy-white expanse of her inner thighs.

Yes, Mikasa Ackerman wore red well, he decided—the charming blush that spread across her cheeks would have appeared undignified on anyone else. “Uh, I,” she squeaked as his lips made contact with the inside of her right knee.

“Yes?” He moved to the other knee, giving her time but also rather enjoying this unwonted side of her. “Do you want me to stop?” She might have been the one stuttering, but he would do any damn thing she wanted.

The doe eyes had softened, lashes fanning almost sleepily, and he wondered how pathetic it made him that he would find her damned _eyelashes_ erotic. She shook her head, a wordless signal for him to continue. He did.

Her fingers flexed and curled at her side—in anticipation or nervousness, he didn’t know. Possibly both. He trailed his hands along her thighs, up the cut of muscle on the sides, watching with fascination as gooseflesh emerged beneath his touch. His fingers curled into the waist of her shorts, exposing a hipbone for his mouth, lower still, and she shivered as his teeth grazed her flesh.

 _That_ sound. The little catch in her breath and the barely-heard whine—understanding Mikasa was a delicate process, and she was not the type to give false praise in the form of theatrics. He remembered that sound, and it meant she enjoyed whatever he was doing very much.

 _“Fuck,_ you do this often?”

Levi hummed against her, and she whimpered at the sensation. In truth, he’d done this only once, very long ago. It hardly went toward experience, but the girl at the time had provided him with an apt, and rather lasting, comparison; it probably wasn’t the most appropriate of moments to bring up past partners, so he only said, “you ever eaten a peach, Ackerman?”

The gritty scrape of her nails digging into the wall above his head was strangely arousing. He hummed again, enjoying the gasp it earned him— _goddammit_ he was so hard and she hadn’t even touched him yet. Mikasa's breathing had quickened, breaking occasionally into little _ahs_ and sighs.

He knew she was going to come by the way she suddenly went quiet and how her hand shot to his hair, gripping the strands tightly. The quasi-pain of her grip made him moan, and then she was arching forward, her other hand digging fruitlessly against the wall behind her as she gasped and juddered.

Small fingers curved around his chin, prying his mouth from her tender flesh. He’d barely risen to standing when she threw her arms over his shoulders and captured his mouth with her own.

Frenzied fingers slipped and shook as she fumbled with his belt buckle. Levi caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, content to revel in the greedy pliability of her lips. He wanted to take her against the wall like this—then again, the desk inspired an equal amount of interest, and he was suddenly overcome with the prospect of being with her like this again, and then again and then yet _again._

“Why are you smiling?” she muttered against his mouth, her own pulling upwards at the corners.

“I wanted to taste you like that,” he said into her neck, and he _knew_ she was blushing. She arched against him, those pert little breasts taunting, and he released her wrists to pull at his belt.

Her hand dove for his pants but he caught her fingers. “No,” he jerked his chin to the right, breathless, “bed.”

She didn’t argue, slipping around him and making a beeline across the room. He tried not to stumble over his own pants as he followed her, wanting to catch her waist while she was turned; she was too quick, spinning in his arms and melding their bodies together again.

Levi was astounded by her boldness, how she reached between them and took him in hand—though her movements were a bit awkward. He figured she was driven more by lust and curiosity than actual experience. His mind blanked as she worked his burning flesh, his forehead falling to her shoulder with a groan. “This could end very quickly if you keep that up, brat,” he grunted.

“Are you telling me to slow down?” The smile was audible in her voice, that coy lilt he’d come to recognize as reserved for only him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, catching her hands and bringing them around to the small of her back. “We have time now.”

There was a notable shift then; in how she kissed him, held him, and he made sure to memorize the little sounds she made or the way she felt beneath him.

What a fool he had been to ever turn away from her, from _this._ Laying her across the bed was a ridiculously addictive experience; her neck was pale and stretched, head angled back as she arched to receive him, and he could only watch in silent wonderment. The tender way she had brushed her hands along his jaw left him with a certain devastation and a dangerous, tight feeling in his chest. It was almost a relief when her grip in his hair turned possessive.

Her body pulled him in, urged a gasp from him which he gave to her neck. She was soft and hard and liquid fire in his arms, the broken murmur of his name on her tongue like a death and renascence all at once. It would be all too easy to lose himself in her like this, and if he had been a lesser man with less restraint he would have—but the way her brow creased in beautiful agony as he rocked slow in and out of her kept him at a sedate pace, if only to witness her reaction. She dug her nails into his shoulders, hooked her heels around his lower back to urge him on. Still, he resisted her, refused her; and thus it was the limn of their dynamic, the give and take that had resided there since the beginning.

Finally, Mikasa appeared to grow tired of letting him win; with a shove, he was the one on his back. She didn't say anything as she clambered back over him, her eyes intense, burning, and he felt no urge to fill the silence. There was something transcendental about her movements, about the ghost-like glow of her flesh in the moonlight, how her features hid and revealed themselves in the shadows every time she turned her head. Her voice broke through on every other breath, something desperate in its murmur, swelling and rising. Her fingers marked his chest, gripping his arms and then tangling with his hands.

 _"God,"_ she gasped when he touched her right _there,_ drawn by the center of her above him. Her spine arched, _"fuck,"_ breath juddering out of her chest. She came against his hand, and he turned them over once again, chasing after her. At the height of his release, he felt his senses were not his own, that her breath was his and their pulses was shared, and he became drunk on the euphoria—deaf and breathless and the only kind of helpless he'd care to be.

The moon was staring at him. He'd rolled away from her, leaving them in their shared recovery, and he had perfect view of the night sky through the frosted window. He closed his eyes to it, listening to Mikasa's slowing breath. A beat. Two. And then Levi rose to his elbows and looked over at her. Her eyes, like a cat’s, gleamed back at him, a pale hand coming to touch upon her mouth. "You alright?"

A smile. She nodded, hand falling down to graze his shoulder. Levi pulled her to him, and a small piece of him rejoiced that she didn’t shy away when he kissed her again. He couldn’t stop touching her—he liked how his hands looked on her waist, her thighs. She curled into him, head on his shoulder and body flush with his side, and again his fingers found the trail of her spine. Her breath was soft and warm against his neck as she whispered, "you spoke with Erwin today."

He hummed a yes. "Hanji, too."

"What was that about?" A pause, then she added, "if I can ask."

"You can ask. It had to do in part with you, actually." She was calm against him, listening. "I think they know."

Mikasa stilled. Then she sat, eyes searching his face. "About this?"

The moon really did do wonders to her skin. He traced her clavicle, between her breasts. "Maybe." And then, because he knew that wasn't enough for her, "they can at least understand how all this might have brought us closer."  _Look after each other._ He told her about the meeting, about Erwin's and Hanji's joint attempt at getting their point across. She listened in silence, eyes rapt, on him.  He liked having her like this, with her face above him, blocking out everything else so it was only she. The moon blazed behind her head like a milky crown, lending her an ethereal glow. "Closer," he requested with a whisper, kissing her, feeling the new shortness of her tresses between his fingers. 

A coy smirk against his mouth. "Closer." She kissed him again.

The knowledge of how easily she could undo him was more than humbling, and Levi was certain he'd never felt his fragile, this exposed. Then again, she was just as bare as he. And that too was humbling. He traced the bow of her lip with his thumb, reveling in the fullness of it, taking in the planes of her face. "Do you know why?" She did know, but he asked anyway. Because how could one really, fully _know?_ Yet she nodded, needing no explanation for his meaning, and settled back into his arms, wrapping her own around his body. Circuit complete.

"I know why." And she did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. Thank you, thank you, thank you for supporting me through this. This kind of thing, ending a story, is oddly emotional regardless, but there’s the added element of this being my first time publishing my work and letting the world see it. There was a time, around chapter 3 or 4, when I was _this_ close to scrapping it. I had a little crisis of faith, both in myself and in the story, and I began to panic—WTF am I doing?? I warred with taking the story down (and maybe even deleting my various accounts on AO3 and FF.net and tumblr), that’s how crazy I got. But the overwhelming support I received from you guys compelled me to stick with it, and I’m SO glad I did. So, thank you to all of you for reading, reviewing, reposting, and offering your time and support. This has been such a great learning experience for me, and I hope you enjoyed the ride, too. And if you’re finishing this several years from now for the first time, I hope you liked it too! On to our final chapter.
> 
> Oh, and a special thanks to the girl who planted the seed of this story in the first place. We were just talking shit over wine one night, and now I’ve written my first fanfic. Thanks, J. xx


	24. Epilogue

The dirt lane was one of the best features to the house; it stretched out from the parting trees and sloped up to meet the veranda, affording those inside the modest dwelling the ability to assess any guests coming up their drive.

In this case, she’d heard the visitor before seeing him—rather, she’d heard the distant whicker of his horse.

Military, if the sigil and colors on both beast and man were anything to go by. An envoy, most likely. He was alone, but she’d learned by now not to trust appearances. She waited until he was a few yards from the porch before swinging open the door.

The day was lazy, the air humming with the summer breeze and the gentle keen of cicadas. It was a misleading kind of calm, and the unexplainable trepidation she’d felt that morning suddenly made sense. Some part of her, for whatever reason, had been expecting this moment. She pulled a smile over her face.

“Good day, ma’am,” the stranger called, his voice cordial enough. His hair was gray, face pleasantly weathered, though he was far from doddering. He was more kindly than venerable, and for this matter she elected to pay him closer attention.

“Good day.”

He left her no time to question, dismounting before the front steps and launching into his reason for visiting without preamble. He was looking for _Captain Ackerman._ An envoy he was, then. While she appreciated his willingness to announce himself at her doorstep, his politeness didn’t make up for the underlying air of _expectation_ in his countenance, and she couldn’t help but bristle when he shoved the horse’s lead into her hands.

“I trust I can impose upon your good graces to mind my horse while I speak to the master?” Spoken as a question, but he expected no reply. In fact, he wasted no time in making his way up the porch steps, all before she could utter a word.  _Dismissed._

The front door gaped wide in her periphery, and she turned her head to the pair of sharp gray eyes observing the scene. He regarded her from the kitchen table where she’d left him. The exchange lasted barely a second, but in its span she asked a question and he answered. Then he nodded.

The envoy paused before the door, blocking her view of the table. “Oh, and keep him away from pasture. He’s liable to bloat on the green.”

She met the gray eyes at the table one last time before the door closed behind the envoy.

The next fifteen minutes proceeded, more or less, about how she’d anticipated. Indeed, the afternoon visitor had not come alone, and she encountered his compatriots in the stable. They weren’t very friendly, to say the least; like their superior, they underestimated her, brushing her aside as no threat at all. Their mistake.

She dealt with them easily enough. Still, it left her in a wretched mood. A headache was already beginning to form in her temples—though this wasn’t anything new. The dizziness usually followed.

Opting to renter the house through the back door, she paused in the kitchen to retrieve a fresh stash of black tea. She rested a hand against the counter, head swimming. The envoy spoke quietly in the other room, followed by a familiar, deeper tone; beneath the latter’s customary, dry delivery, she detected a note of agitation. Time to make herself known.

“Mikasa, this is Mr. Leslie Bartlett. He’s here on what he claims is _official military business.”_ Levi spoke without turning to her, knowing it was she by the careful press of her feet upon the floorboards.

Mikasa pawed at the front of her shirt, wiping off the excess blood from her hands. Deep down, she let herself enjoy the rather dramatic way Mr. Bartlett’s eyes widened with shock upon seeing her emerge from the kitchen. He looked at the blood on her clothes, her hands, and then back to her face. He paled.

“Mr. Bartlett," she intoned, adjusting a tendril of hair that had fallen loose from its clip. It was getting long. She'd need to cut it again. "You should have told me you’d brought company.”

The envoy gaped, omitting little sounds as he tried to form words.

“You’ve made two mistakes in your short time here, Mr. Bartlett,” Levi said, and the envoy’s eyes snapped back to him.” The first being when you assumed Captain Ackerman to be a _man.”_

Mr. Bartlett continued to gawk, rising from his heels in an affronted manner only to descend flat again. His pale eyes flickered back to the only woman in the room. “But...she is—”

“Mikasa Ackerman of the Survey Corps," Levi informed. "Captain to an elite force of soldiers known as the Special Operations Squad.”

Mikasa picked up the teapot at the table’s center and began to refill it with tea, catching Levi’s eye as he flicked his gaze across her grisly appearance. This time, it was he who asked the question. She replied with a curt jut of her chin. _I’m fine._

“But you…” Bartlett began, still insistent upon addressing Levi, “you are—“

“Retired. And annoyed.” The chair creaked in protest as he pushed away from the table and stood. “I suggest you stop talking out of your ass and explain why you’re really here.”

A beat. “So, you two are married?”

“No. We share a clan name. And an inherent dislike for people who waste our time.” Levi hooked his foot around the leg of a chair and pulled it away from the table. “Sit.”

Bartlett sat instantly.

“That was your last question. Answer mine before I lose my temper. _What are you doing here?”_

Mikasa crossed around the side of the table, holding a fresh cup of tea. She placed her free hand on Levi’s shoulder. Bartlett would interpret the look she gave him as one of the reprimanding spouse, no doubt. _Let him._ Levi made a show of backing down, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table.

“Your men are dead, Mr. Bartlett.” Mikasa’s tone was blithe, as if informing him she’d opted to add sweet feed to his horse’s stall. She passed him the steaming cup of tea before pouring herself a cup. “It’s just us.”

The calm delivery of her threat was oddly menacing, and Bartlett’s hand shook as he lifted the tea to his lips. “Please,” he murmured, lips bumbling with his tongue, “they weren’t my men. I’m just a messenger.”

“And what message have you to give?” Levi uttered, voice deep and slow.

Bartlett’s cup rattled against his teeth. He refused to meet their eyes.

“An assassination,” Levi scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Really, did you even do your research beforehand? Did you think this would be easy?” He shook his head and reached for the teapot. Mikasa’s hand intercepted his midway, fingers curling around his own.

The gesture was odd—not the intimacy of it, but rather it’s abrupt display—and Levi’s composure faltered just the slightest. Mikasa’s grip on his hand was firm, nearing painful.

“Look, they don’t tell me much. I’m just the mouthpiece,” Bartlett squawked. “They mentioned something about testing you. About seeing if the rumors about the Ackermans were true.” A nervous chortle. “Clearly, the two of you live up to your name as _Humanity’s Strongest.”_ The teacup rattled as he bumbled another sip of tea. “There will be more coming, I can assure you. When the men tonight fail to return, they’ll send more—“

“And who are _they,_ exactly?” Mikasa demanded, her hold on Levi never faltering.

Bartlett inhaled to speak. Then stopped abruptly. As if suddenly overcome by a bout of indigestion, his throat worked, eyes stretching wide and fluttering in an odd manner. There was a pause, a dawning panic, and then he lurched to standing, his cup tumbling to the floor. “You bitch!” he screeched, shaking a trembling hand at Mikasa.

Levi looked from the irate messenger to the dark-haired woman beside him. Then down to the tea between them. “Oh, you clever girl.”

Bartlett tugged at his collar, panic-stricken. He skirted backwards as if to flee, but the effects of the tea were already taking hold and he stumbled over his feet. He caught the back of the chair before his knees buckled, eyes going wide. “What have you given me?” he managed to slur, before his hands slipped and he collapsed to the floor. Motionless.

“Did you kill him?” Levi drawled, grimacing at the broken shards at his feet.

Mikasa shook her head. “Of course not. I used some of the mandrake.” She bent to the fallen envoy, turning him onto his back with a shove. “I wasn’t so lenient with his friends, however.”

“Good.” Levi hauled her to standing by her elbow and pulled her to him. She gasped against his mouth, surprised by his sudden passion. “Are you alright?” His gray eyes tore over her form, thin brows furrowing as he took in the sight of the blood turning brown on her clothes.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she huffed, but her fingers dug into his shirt. “None of this is mine.”

“Don’t remember you being messy.”

“I needed to improvise,” she chuckled, recalling the hoof pick.

“How many?”

“Only two.”

Gray eyes hardened, anger slipping beneath his composure. Some at her, mostly at himself. “I knew better. None of it felt right. I should have been with you.”

“Since when did I become an invalid?”

Choosing to ignore her quip, he smoothed his hand over the front of her blouse, across the gore, to rest on her lower abdomen. “It’s not just you I’m worried about.”

Mikasa swallowed any irritation she felt toward his fretting and covered his hand with her own. “We’re fine.”

The room suddenly felt too large, too exposed; whatever bombast and pretense they’d clung to a moment ago was slowly leeching away, leaving a rising alarm.

“Right,” Levi began, holding her to him as the wheels turned in his mind. “We need to go.”

Mikasa hummed, already in sync. “There will be more.”

“We got lucky. Their first hand was weak.” He cast a condemnatory gaze to the man at their feet. “What was he going to do, _distract me?”_

“What do _we_ do?” Mikasa curled her fingers around his chin, bringing him back to her.

Levi’s eyes softened just the slightest as he took in her face, the crease in his brow relaxing. He licked his thumb and wiped away a dried fleck of blood from her chin. “You pack. I need to send a letter.” He waved his hand, eyes screwing shut as he shook his head. “No, actually, I’ll pack. Your penmanship is better.”

This was true, but she also knew it caused him far less anxiety to be the one packing the bags. They’d had more than one spat over her _questionable_ methods. Despite the circumstances, Mikasa couldn’t help a wry smile. “And I’m writing to...?”

“Efran. Tell him I’m ready to take him up on that favor.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my dears, is that.
> 
> Who knows if I'll do a sequel. I have ideas but not so much the _time_ to see them realized. We'll see. I will, however, be writing more RivaMika. More in general. Probably a much shorter projects, though. TSRTS was nearly a year-long endeavor. Doesn't seem like much, but if I think about where I was in February? Ha.
> 
> Anyway. Until next time.


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